


Relations Chapters 1-4

by ahestele



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Passion - Donna Boyd
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahestele/pseuds/ahestele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oz meets a different kind of werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Crossover between B:tVS and the Donna Boyd books THE PASSION and THE PROMISE. References up to and including season 7.

He didn't know why he walked exactly, yet he couldn't seem to stop the need, ever since he returned from Alaska. The events there had so torn his mind, philosophies and beliefs asunder that there seemed to be a constant fever in his brain, always there, dissecting, arguing, reasoning. The memories haunted him, even as he conducted business or had a video conference, or did anything, for that matter. Not even in wolf form could he truly escape the pain of what he now knew. He walked to the car, giving his chauffer an absent nod, and receiving one in return, then he paused, looking around.

He was in New York, at the upscale penthouse he used when he flew in for business. He was on his way to the airport, having wrapped up a meeting early and wanting to return to the house. Ever since the murders he disliked being away for more than a few days.

Still, that night, the sky seemed to call him, the vast expanse of cobalt blue above acted as a balm to his fevered soul, and with a murmured word of explanation to his bewildered driver, he took off down the road.

This was not like running, either alone or with the pack. Nothing could compare to that purity and bursting joy. This was about serenity, mindless motion, soothing cadence, so that when Garret caught up with him that night, he turned to his long time friend in annoyance.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Nicholas, what are you doing? The plane is ready. Trudeau said you just walked away...."

"Yes, I did. I felt like a stroll to clear my head. If that is within your approval I'd like to continue." His voice was too sharp, he knew, but no one had so much as given him a miffed glance in months. Having one's parents killed and surviving an assassination attempt had done wonders for his contemporary's temperament; that, and the fact that he was the pack leader, and as such, afforded every courtesy.

"This could be dangerous. There are humans everywhere. The neighborhood becomes seedy at the next block."

"I'm not afraid of humans..."

"No, of course not..."

"And it pleases me to walk this way. I will return in short order."

"We'll follow you in the car. It is my duty to protect you, Nicholas. Please understand I need to do fulfill it to the best of my ability."

He'd paused, meeting the guilt on Garret's face. Garret had found him in Alaska, and harbored much anguish at the way the events there had unfolded. Nicholas tried to tell his closest friend and second in command that nothing he could have done would have changed the turn of fate, that the way things happened had been predestined by actions of their father's fathers. Garret had humbly demurred any more vocal blame on himself, but the pain was there still; he could smell it. It was unkind to torture his friend by refusing safety standards.

"Very well." He said gently. "Please keep far enough back of the sound the engine does not disturb me."

Garret nodded, and so they began.

The urge to walk like this on came to him while in New York, the car following a few blocks behind. By NY city blocks, this was a respectable distance indeed. He found that after these excursions, the clamoring in his head and heart was appeased somewhat, calmed, and he could continue with this relief for a few days. Though he owned houses in Lyons, Beverly Hills and the compound in Alaska, the urge to walk only came to him in New York, as if that city alone, with it's clamor, energy, and innocent cruelty, could truly ease his labored soul.

Garret ceased trying to dissuade him after the first few times, and now simply drove the car himself, keeping a watchful eye on Nicholas as he roamed the streets. Not once had Garret intervened, though he could well imagine his friend's distress the time he spoke to a street musician, and the time he stopped to help an elderly human pick up some parcels that had slipped from her infirm hands as she crossed the street. No one else would stop, he knew. The City was like that, and perhaps it was that innate element, survival of the fittest, that endeared this place to a special nook in his heart. So like the law of the pack was this element. Like the pack, it was not borne of malice or artifice; it just was.

Nicholas was pulled from his own thoughts by the nauseating scent of a werewolf in pain.

Oh, he caught whiffs here and there on his walks, had actually spied some once, running recklessly along Central Park; foolish youngsters no doubt, and not of his clan. Still the sight filled him with pride and happiness even then; there was a time when he might have done the same. It didn't last long, that moment of freedom and recklessness, but the memory warmed him just the same.

No, this was pain. Keening, crippling pain, terror, panic and anger, emanating in waves from somewhere near. Tilting his head into the air, Nicholas inhaled sharply and veered to the right, his sensitive hearing picking sounds of a scuffle already.

The calm of his walk had disappeared, but all he knew now was the need to get to the owner of this torture and hope his aid came in time.

Finally he found it, the scent of wolf blood and fear, thick in the air. It was smothered by the other: glee and bloodlust very close to madness, the stench of human evil.

Three of them had cornered a young werewolf in an alley. All Nicholas saw as he soundlessly approached the fray was a small figure, no more than a pup, surely. Flash of spiky red hair and denim jacket overcome by the forms of his attackers. Hulking brutes, all of them, to descend on one so much more frail; the sheer unfairness made him sick. To the pup's credit he put up a valiant fight, but the strength and number of the humans would defeat him in seconds. Already he staggered as a ham handed fist knocked him against a grimy brick wall.

"This is hardly sporting, is it gentlemen?" his low, mellifluous voice stopped them cold, and they turned their dull brute's eyes to him as the young wolf collapsed in a heap amidst the garbage. The odor of the narrow space was fetid but Nicholas fought nausea as he met each pair of eyes with reserve.

"Mind your own business asshole." The one who looked to be the ringleader spoke up, but his hearing detected uncertainty, and he knew he cut an imposing figure. Over six feet tall in his expensive leather boots, he wore a long wool coat against the chill of the winter night, and his blond hair fanned over the shoulders in all it's splendor. He knew in the weak street light most of him would blend into the shadows showing only the luster of his mane and the cold look in his eyes.

"No." he replied at length, voice regretful "I don't think I will."

Nicholas flew into movement so fast that he managed to knock two of the louts unconscious before they even raised a fist. The heavier one tried to stand, but Nicholas swung a vicious boot heel at his jaw, and the assailant moved no more. He had broken nothing seriously, his attack formulated to disarm, not kill. It succeeded well. The last one standing, seeing the folly of resistance, began to back away, hands up in supplication.

Nicholas hadn't even broken a sweat. It was so easy as to be insulting.

"OK, buddy. We just wanted the kid's money. That's all."

"Indeed." He said, before he jabbed a snake fast uppercut at that precise point on a human's jaw that caused complete incapacitation. The man fell with a dull thud and Nicholas wiped his hand on his coat, thinking with annoyance that he'd now have to get it cleaned.

As he turned to the object of his defense a faint moan reached his ears, and he knelt next to the bedraggled figure among the swill.

"Thanks, man." the weak voice whispered.

"I'm not a man." Nicholas muttered, noting instantly the injuries were even more extensive than he first thought. "Neither are you."

But the young wolf had passed out, head lolling as Nicholas gathered the broken body in his arms. Good lord, had this one been feeding at all? He weighed no more than a pack of kindling. The sound of blood rushing to bruised organs and fractured bones almost deafened him as he exited the alley breathing in air blessedly clean by comparison. As he expected, the elegant town car screeched to a halt beside him and Garret jumped out of the driver's side in high agitation.

"Thank all that's holy you're all right! What on earth were you doing?...What is that?"

"Quit nattering and open the door!"

"I don't think..."

"The door!" Nicholas snapped and Garret pressed his lips so tight they nearly disappeared, but he complied. Sliding in carefully so the boy's head wouldn't hit, he gingerly lay the body in his arms on the leather seat.

"Drive back to the house." Without a word Garret revved the car and headed back, giving Nicholas concerned glances in the rear view mirror. If he thought he wouldn't further hurt his friend's already tender sentiments, he would have activated the privacy panel.

Nicholas searched the boy's pockets, but found no form of identification whatsoever. It seemed the thieves had reached their goal of pilfering the boy's wallet. Next he felt around the lax body, noting the multitude of cuts and bruises, as well as a few broken ribs, a sprained wrist, and a gash on the temple that would need stitches if it would not weave closed after the pup changed forms. Beneath the surface he could hear blood racing to mend broken cartilage and splintered marrow, but slowly, so slowly healing came when in human form. Of course the boy couldn't Change in front of three witnesses, so he had been trapped.

"Poor whelp." He murmured, scarcely aware he'd spoken out loud. Reaching in his pocket for his silk handkerchief he tried to wipe some blood off his charge's face, but there was also a nosebleed that wouldn't stanch.

"He's probably a stray." Garret voiced from where he maneuvered the luxury automobile ever closer to the penthouse.

"No doubt." Nicholas agreed, picking up a hand and examining it with interest. Much could be said by a wolf's hands. His own were leathery from Alaskan winters and rough housing with his brothers, though they did not approach his father's impenetrable paws, scratched and scarred from many travails. The boy looked to have capable, veined hands, with curious callouses only on the tips of his right fingers. Now that he saw the odd spiked hair, he realized the color was darker henna from the middle of the strands out, and a more strawberry red towards the roots. When he reached beneath the abused jaw to feel the thread of pulse he found a leather necklace and a small pewter medallion with Asian writing.

"Nicholas, may I ask what you are doing?" Garret deigned to ask once more, and he met his friend's eyes in the mirror with amusement.

"What I'm doing is obvious, is it not? What you mean to ask is why."

"Yes. Why?"

"There were three of them, humans, attacking him, yet he fought bravely." Nicholas said, looking once more at the sprawled form on the seat. "I could not simply walk away."

"Noble," Garret observed with more than a trace of cynicism, "Also unwise. You can't go around gathering every mongrel pup you run across like..."

"My father." Nicholas supplied absently, picked up the distress from the front seat.

"I meant no disrespect to Alexander."

"Nor am I insinuating you did." But he was tired of this conversation and having to defend his actions, more so because he himself was not sure why he had paused, and acted. Werewolves such as this were abundant, he sensed them time and again, those that did not belong to the prestigious clans that ran world markets, dined with Presidents, or won Academy Awards, but merely existed, eking out a living doing whatever mundane occupation among the world of humans.

Perhaps he had received some of his parent's fascination for the helpless after all.

"I can get Millicent to clean his wounds..."

"No." Nicholas said, walking directly towards his own private bedroom. "It was my decision. I will take care of it."

"For heaven's sake stop this posturing!" Garret burst out so suddenly he turned towards him rather surprised, and secretly pleased. It had been the first true emotion his friend had shown him in months, instead of the kid gloved reactions he'd been getting. At one point he considered telling him he'd be taking on a human mistress, just to get some sort of genuine rise out of the banality.

"I don't pretend to have your father's compassion or your intelligence, but I do know when you are being deliberately dysfunctional."

"I'm just concerned." Nicholas answered softly, still holding the young hurt wolf in his arms. "You know very well he can't go to a hospital."

"Other strays manage."

"He would have died." Nicholas supplied in response to Garret's juvenile sulking.

"I've had enough death. Haven't you?" Turning to resume his course he called out over his shoulder."Bring me what's necessary to dress his wounds."

"Right away." The hint of sarcasm wasn't lost on him, but as he lay the whelp on his expensive satin sheets, he smiled.

It took him nearly three hours to minister to the broken body. Despite his grumbling Garret ended up aiding him in the binding of the ribs below the thin chest where the bones of ribcage stood out in striations, and emptying the water that pinked from the blood on the wolf's face. It had to be emptied twice.

"We'll have to remove his clothes, they reek of filth and human." Garret said as he walked in holding a pair of soft fleece pants and a plain white undershirt.

"Yours?" Nicholas asked, starting to remove his patient's scuffed black boots.

"Who else's?" His friend responded irritably. "Everyone else is either too old or female. And you have nearly no casual clothing."

It was true. Nicholas spent so much time on the go he rarely had occasion for casual attire. When he Changed and ran, he, of course, needed no clothes.

"I suppose I should cancel the plane."

"Yes." Nicholas tugged the denim jacket off the listless arms, then the threadbare t-shirt with the unlikely phrase DINGOES ATE MY BABY emblazoned on the front. The bizarre things youth found fascinating these days. "Set up my laptop in here. There's nothing pressing I was to do there that can't be handled electronically, at least for now."

"I'm having Milli prepare some blood broth. If he doesn't eat he can't Change and get well."

Nicholas tossed the shirt in a pile, thinking he might burn it along with the loose carpenter's jeans and thin scuffed boots. Before Garret turned away he caught his wrist and smiled at the inquisitive glance. "Thank you for indulging me."

Garret gave him a rueful smile in return, and they were once again at ease, more so than they'd been in a long while. "You do it so seldom."

"It would seem I'm making up for it in spades."

"Surely not in spades." Nicholas reached for the scruff of Garret's neck and drew him close to press a hard kiss to his temple.

"Surely not."

On the bed next to them, the young stray slept on.

*****  
Part 2:

On the bed next to them, the young stray slept on.

And on and on.

Nicholas worked at the computer deep into the morning, and paused briefly to help the servant girl Millicent try to feed the young wolf. They had only minimal success.

"Come on. Swallow, damnit." He muttered, as together they held the shoulders up, and he placed a bowl at the pale lips. After half a dozen tries the lips parted, drank, drank again, then closed once more.

"He'll need more than that to get himself up and about, that's the truth." Millicent's round girlish face opined, her cheeks pink with the effort. She was a transplant from England, and the daughter of one of their long time employees.

"Yes, he shall." Nicholas sighed, laying the boy back down and pulling the covers up to cover him. He noticed Milli standing there awkwardly, instead of giving one of her bobbing curtsies and scurrying off. He knew he intimidated most of the staff, wolf and human alike, but Milli less than most.

"Do you need something?"

"Please Sir, seeing as the boy is in your bed, where would you be sleeping tonight?"

"Oh, yes." He rubbed his eyes "Forgotten about that. One of the guest rooms will do for now."

"Very good Sir. Will the one next to Mr. Gault's be sufficient?"

"Quite."

But by the time Milli came to let him know the room was ready he had laid next to the boy on the King sized bed, and fallen promptly asleep.

The young ward did not awaken the next day, nor the next, and Nicholas began to seriously worry. Yet the pup drank the heavy blood broth more and more, and his skin began to gain some color. Once or twice he thought he might have seen the reddish blond lashes flutter, but the color of the young wolf's eyes remained a mystery, though nothing else about how he looked did.

He had the fair, fair skin of a natural redhead and, despite the thinness, a compact set to his shoulders that spoke of deceptive strength. The smooth line of his back sported a collection of scars silvery against the milky skin and made by a small but lethal hands. Above each buttock resided a deep dimple, and each sported a muscled indentation; flanks fit, like a runners. His face was hard to characterize, especially with his eyes closed. Fine brows the same light red blond as his lashes, gently sloped nose with slightly flared nostrils and a lush lower lip that seemed to be pouting in repose.

Sometimes Nicholas would catch himself staring at the sleeping figure for as long as twenty minutes. He kept expecting the whelp to Change, to speed up his healing, but by the end of the second day, Garret voiced what had already been zinging around his head.

"Perhaps he can't. Maybe he's a lycanthrope." It was one of the few human terms widely used among The Pack, and among them actually meant anthropomorphic; a wolf who couldn't Change. They had the strength, the resilience, the blood thirst for meat and the kill, but were unable to transcend into wolf form. Despite intense research in this area The Pack's best scientists had been unable to pinpoint the DNA element that caused the condition and only knew with certainty that it was a recessive gene three percent of the were population carried, and the propensity to show up in offspring knew no rhyme or reason.

"Perhaps." Nicholas answered, but it felt wrong, and after much brooding on the subject he realized why. The reason he had gone to the alley, the reason he had followed the scent of wolf blood was precisely because he thought he felt the vibration of a Change amidst all the pain and terror. Extreme situations were wont to bring it forth, and to do so in a side street in front of three humans would be disastrous, no matter whom the wolf was. He's smelled change; the sleeping wolf was not a lyncathrope.

Alone once again, Nicholas ran hand over that absurd hair. "Why don't you Change, my young friend?" he asked in a whisper "Change so you might be well. Change so I may speak with you."

He could not put off his travel any longer. He had postponed one meeting and done another via video conferencing using the wide screen TV set up in the spacious private boardroom, but his presence was imperative at a gathering of stock holders for his largest company, and the meeting was in Washington D.C. For some reason he could not even articulate, he wanted to be here when the boy awoke. He wanted to be the first person for the young wolf to see, and when he tore himself away from the figure on the bed and collided with Garret's knowing gaze, he realized he wasn't fooling anybody.

"Really Nicholas. He could be a complete half-wit when he wakes up. How intelligent could he be to let himself be backed into a corner that way?"

"Get the car ready. We leave this evening." Without bothering to address Garret's earlier comment he left the room.

He could have ordered Garret from the room but chose not to. He moved to the study and made several important phone calls, and spent an hour transcribing his notes on the merger with a failing software company that stood to gain Infotech even more of a foot hold in the information systems industry. When he thought he heard Garret leave to check on the car he rose and, after tucking his business papers in his leather briefcase, headed for his room.

The minute he reached for the door he sensed it: heady electricity in the air, energy, blood and life that was The Passion, and it called to him so viscerally he felt himself gasp with the strength of it. Quickly turning the knob and checking to see that no one was around to interrupt this moment, he stepped inside and turned.

A slim, elegant Red Wolf sat panting on his bed. He recognized the shape of the ears, a bit larger than on other species, and the smaller frame of the body that, at one point, had these wolves mistaken for coyotes. Close to it's ears, an even more distinctive henna hue sprouted, reminding him of the mane on lions, and it's eyes were a the most remarkable clear green color, like crisp apples or green pears.

"Hello my young friend." Nicholas whispered, advancing slowly lest the wolf misinterpret his intentions. "I've been waiting for you."

Instead of lowering its muzzle in deference to an Alpha male, the young wolf pricked its ears and made to sit up, green eyes alive with recognition. Not at all caring, Nicholas held out a hand, palm down, as a sign of congeniality and the wolf edged closer to him on the bed, still panting its half smile and dripping saliva on the silk sheets.

"I don't let just anyone drool on my bed, you know." His hand reached gently for the hair behind the ears, burying in the fissure there, while his other hand scratched the muzzle with his fingernails.

A low half-growl emitted from the young wolf's throat and he laughed, despite himself, as the wolf began to lick his hand in long, wet strokes that tickled.

"Welcome back." He sank next to the young wolf on the unmade bed that now had wolf hair on it and proceeded to stroke the wolf's fine red blond coat. He hadn't seen markings like this since Brianna, his eldest sister.

That's how Garret found them when he burst into the room at a dead run. Nicholas knew he'd be alerted by the flagrant scent of Change in the air upon his return to the apartment.

The reddish blond wolf lay half on Nicholas's lap, letting himself be petted and stroked. Quick green eyes surveyed him before the sleek head bent, somewhat imperiously, towards Nicholas's ever soothing hand.

"Could you have Millicent warm up some blood broth and the side of roast beef, please?" Nicholas said, giving only the barest notice to the stricken look on Garret's face. He could hear Milli flying about the kitchen, the stove being opened and closed, and Garret's gruff voice.

"Now what?" Garret asked as they watched the young wolf devour its fourth bowl of blood broth and a plate of raw liver. Nicholas had been wondering the same thing. "He should stay in this state until his injuries are healed, but that won't be for another day at the most."

He could, Nicholas thought, take the wolf with him. Such was the convenience of owning one's own plane fully equipped for the transportation of wolves, should that be the form someone was in. Still, he and Garret would be in meetings non-stop the whole three days and he didn't trust this with any other staff. The last thing he needed were rampant rumors about pack leader Nicholas Devoncroix picking up lower class strays. Even if they wouldn't be rumors, of course.

He felt Garret's eyes on him and turned to their appraising stare. "You think me foolish."

"I don't understand." Garret admitted. "You've no intention of turning him out, do you?"

"No." Nicholas said. He could have, he supposed, supplied some explanation about researching stray statistics. A new idea about reaching the hundreds of wolves without a clan that resided around the world and furthering the packs influence yet more. In truth none of this meant a thing to him. There was something about a life you saved, was there not? He had failed to save so many this past year by being too short sighted, acting too late, assuming incorrectly. It had cost him his mother and father, the lives of three of the pack's most brilliant scientists, and the life of one human who had cared for him when he was at death's door. He could no longer afford such arrogance. Life, even in werewolf years, was too short.

Besides, he was still pack leader. He did not need to justify his actions to anyone.

"He will stay here. Inform Milli he is to be given every convenience when he Changes back. I will return directly after the meeting in Washington."

"What if he changes back and wants to leave?" Garret asked. "True, I don't know why a stray would be so ungrateful as to turn away such generous overtures, but it is possible. It's why they are strays, after all."

The thought hadn't even occurred to Nicholas, and totally unfamiliar unease sprouted in his chest. No. He could make the young wolf understand his wishes. He was almost sure they would be followed.

"He won't."

The young wolf finished off the food and lay down, sated, shamrock eyes already heavy with sleep.

"Come, my friend." Nicholas said gesturing with his hand and the wolf found his feet in one graceful move. Together they walked to the bedroom.

"I have to leave tonight." He said quietly, hands smoothing the wolf's thick red blond coat. The intense green eyes met his with unblinking steadiness and he smiled, fingering the velvet of a soft ear. "Believe me, you wouldn't want to come. I'll be in endless meetings all day long and you'll be abysmally bored. I'll be back in three days and I want you to wait here. Is that understood?" even the lashes on his lids had the same pale reddish tint as his human form, and they lowered as Nicholas continued to massage the ears with his fingers. A moist pink tongue began to pant.

"I will see you when I return. You can surely wait until then." The wolf gave a contented sigh and melted into his lap where they sat on the bed, newly shedding on Millicent's fresh sheets.

"You'll be here."

But as he moved through his meetings at the nation's capital the events of those three days seemed more and more surreal. He'd only phoned the house in New York twice, not because he forgot but because his schedule was such that he left early in the morning and returned after nightfall when he knew the servants would be asleep. In between he was in the limousine or dining with Garret and he didn't want to call and ask about the wolf then.

By the time the meeting wrapped up he was high on the accomplishment of acquiring an ailing software company for Infotech and his sources told him their stock had jumped considerably the moment the news became known.

Stray wolves and grimy back alley streets seemed very far away. As he sat on the plane listening to Vivaldi and trying to sleep he wondered who he would find when he returned to New York, and what, in fact, he planned to do about him.

AWAKENING

He came out of the Change in his sleep, the last sign that his injuries had all been mended. Stretching languidly Oz ran a hand through his hair and turned over on his back, his gaze hitting an elaborate fresco on the ceiling.

A verdant flowing landscape touched all four corners: rolling hills, a water fall, trees and flowers and a majestic blue sky with wafting clouds lit by rays of sun so ethereal they looked biblical. Men and women cavorted in various states of undress, though there was no sex, all wearing flowing robes that revealed their muscles and curves. And everywhere, among the human forms, the figures of wolves. Here a young girl slept pillowed on the body of a gray male. There a mother wolf nursed her cubs while her mate stood watch nearby. Wolves running, playing, hunting. It was the most amazing thing he'd ever seen..

"Dorothy." He whispered, his vocal cords rough from unuse. "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

Until the moment he opened his eyes all had been sensation. The last thing he remembered was the scent of another wolf, powerful and overwhelming, and that he thanked him for saving his ass even though the three punks had already taken his watch and his wallet when they jumped him on the way to the van. From then it was all feeling- warm, questing hands, sumptuous smell of leather, the inside of an expensive car. Silk sheets, warm wet cloth dabbing at his cuts and bruises, and all the while the specific scent of Him, the wolf who had saved his life. When he'd drunk enough of that rich elixir they fed him to Change, the scent of Him had blown his mind, and he tried to convey his gratitude in this form which had no words.

Sitting up on the silk sheets he looked around himself for the clothes he'd been wearing. Not the ones from the alley; those were bloodied and pretty rank. He remembered fuzzy pants and cotton and after some investigating he found them neatly folded in a bureau drawer. They were easy to spot since whoever stayed here was all about the Armani and Kenneth Cole. The simple articles of clothing glared out as if they were neon.

Slipping them on he ignored his hunger and sat on the bed, figuring someone would be along in a while. Probably the young servant girl who'd been helping Him. Sure enough, in another few minutes she entered arms piled high with clean champagne colored towels.

"Hey." He said and she gasped, flinging the towels everywhere when she whirled around. Oz held out a calming hand to her wide blue eyes.

"I'm sorry. It's OK."

"Good lord, you gave me a fright! The last time I checked you were sleeping dead away! And now I'll have to do a new load, it looks like. Oh well, no help for it, is there?" she replied cheerfully and Oz crawled off the huge bed and walked over to help her pick up towels from the floor.

"I won't tell if you won't." he smiled and she chuckled, as she accepted several from him.

"Oh, youngster, if only it were so easy! Mr. Devoncroix would smell the carpet on them at a thousand paces. Matter of pride, too, y'know."

"Right." He agreed, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she knew he was were. He remembered her from the kitchen when he first Changed and she had fed him. An experimental sniff told him she, too, was werewolf.

"Well, don't just stand there like a lump, boy! Come, you must be starving, and what is your name? We've all been mad with curiosity from it!"

She didn't seem to need any encouragement to chatter on. He followed her into the enormous kitchen barefoot, the floor cold on the soles of his feet where the too long pants dragged. "There for a moment we thought you'd never make it laddie. Laid up something awful you were! I've never seen Mr. Devoncroix so worried, poor dear. Good thing he came upon you when he did. There, have seat, I've some quail and nice venison, got to keep your strength up."

He sat down at one of the tall black stools near the island and watched her.

Milli glanced at him as she removed trays from the restaurant-sized refrigerator.

"Goodness, you don't talk much do you? What was your name? I for one am heartily tired of saying 'him' or 'the young wolf.'"

"I'm Oz."

"Oz." She mused, simultaneously punching buttons on the microwave and placing a saucepan on the gleaming chrome stove. "What a strange name for a wolf! I'll bet it's short for something. They call me Milli, short for Millicent, you see."

"Hi." He smiled, his head starting to ring a little from the constant stream of words. She could give Willow a run for her money in the babble department. "And thanks."

"Whatever for?"

"The food and taking care of me."

"Pshaw." She waved him away. "No problem at all. Mr. Devoncroix's due back tomorrow. He'll be right pleased you've woken up!"

"There was another one." Oz said, finding the memory of another scent, not at overpowering as His, but present, still. "I remember."

"Indeed." Milli nodded, placing a gold edged plate heaped high with meat before him. He couldn't believe he'd heard someone besides Giles use the word 'indeed'. "That was Mr. Gault, Mr.Devoncroix's assistant. Oh, but they've been inseparable since they were cubs, I hear. Never one without the other. Go on now, eat, eat! Can't have Mr. Devoncroix thinking I didn't keep you up, now can we?"

By the time she gave him a companionable pat on the back he was already digging into the meat. The succulent fowl and the slightly wild taste of the venison exploded on his palate. While he ate a persistent thought kept tugging at his conscious.

Devoncroix, he'd heard the name before. Despite roaming around for the past few years, his favorite magazine was still Newsweek, after Guitar, of course. He remembered reading about the name, but the gist of the article escaped him. Milli refilled his plate twice, and by the end of that plate his eyes were drooping again.

"You're still not up to snuff, I can see it." Milli intoned as he walked slowly back to the bedroom, his mouth parting in a splitting yawn. "Go on and have another nap."

"Milli, do you know where my clothes are?"

"What, the rags you were wearing when Mr. Devoncroix found you?"

The corners of his lips curved in a grin. "Yeah, those."

Leaning closer she slipped an arm around his shoulders conspiratorially. "I did keep them for you, and laundered them besides. Mr. Devencroix wanted to pitch them, they were in such a state, but no fear, young Oz, no fear!" she assured at the sight of the mild distress on his brow. "These wealthy types just don't understand about some realities, do they? How was I to know you'd even have other clothes? Not that I'm sure Mr. Devoncroix won't be purchasing some more for you, but it's the principle, don't you find?"

"The shirt does have sentimental value."

"Well, there you go." She nodded, pleased with herself and bustled off to the laundry room, Oz at her heels.

"I really don't think I need Mr.Devoncroix to buy me new clothes. Why would he do that?" He asked as she handed him a neatly folded pile and placed his battered Doc Martens on top. Milli met his eyes with genuine puzzlement.

"Well at the outside just to not look at you in these, I would think, dear."

"Oh. Right."

He returned to the bed and lay down to think but sleep stole over him before he even realized and he slept for another four hours, waking ravenous. Milli seemed to take this as par for the course and heaped his plate high with more delicious meat. They didn't seem too high on the vegetable wagon here, but he wasn't complaining. He'd changed into his clothes, and, yes, the Dingoe's t-shirt had seen better days, but he felt better wearing them; as if this whole situation wasn't so strange. When he finished Milli had, for once, not done one of her magical reappearing-at-just-the-right-moment acts and he walked over to the deep industrial sink to wash the plate.

"Oz! What on earth are you doing, lad?" Milli showed up instantly looking fairly scandalized.

"Cleaning up." He smiled as he squirted Dawn dishwashing liquid on a sponge that looked like it had never been used.

"Excuse me, dear, but why?"

"I've got this."

"Be that as it may." Milli plucked the dish from his fingers firmly. "What kind of servant would I be if I let Mr. Devoncroix's guests fend for themselves? Why I'd be out on my ear!"

"I don't think I'm comfortable having you wait on me." he tried to point out.

"But you're still his guest, and that supercedes any other silly ideas you might have about being helpful."

"Oh. Thanks for the feudal hierarchy lesson. I'll remember that." He deadpanned and she nodded cheerfully.

"Any time, luv."

Luv. He hadn't heard 'luv' since Spike and Sunnydale.

Left to his own devices he roamed around the place until he found a window. A breathtaking view of Central Park spread out before him and he spent a long time just appreciating it. More investigating found him in a large library with books stacked to the ceiling. He picked out leather bound edition of W.H. Auden and sank onto a velvet sofa, where he began to read.

He spent the next day fighting the urge to leave, but not too hard. There were things he'd planned to do, places he'd planned to be, but none of it was set in stone, because nothing ever was for him. Everything was loose, a perk of traveling on his own, making his own way, his own rules. He'd planned to hook up with Devon in Philadelphia at some point. They exchanged e-mails, and his ex-band mate continued reaching for the stars as head vocalist of the band on the t-shirt that Milli had washed. He would make it, his band mate. He had the look, charisma to spare, and wasn't afraid to get a little dirty in the process. At the end of each e-mail was the question, in italics 'When you coming back Oz-man? Let me know.' That was Devon, keeping the faith. At one time he thought he would be coming back. That was before Willow, and...things, in Sunnydale.

He wondered why, despite those things he didn't pull out and look at very often, the word still sounded like home.

He should find his van. It's probably towed by now, maybe stripped, but he still wanted to find it, just to see. If it was totaled, then to say good-bye to his old friend. If not, to grab his guitar case, his duffel with some clothes, if those hadn't been ripped off, and hit the road.

But he hadn't left. He was assuming he could. Milli bustled around here, and he'd caught glimpses of other people coming and going in this place, the most extravagant he'd ever seen or been in. No one guarded the door, no one would stop him from leaving this luxurious penthouse. Maybe it was because Milli just acted like his staying was a foregone conclusion. Maybe it was bad manners to leave without thanking your host. Either way, he didn't go.

All of today he'd felt like Alice in Wonderland. This place was like a maze and he wandered around for hours, peeking in bedrooms and opening doors. He found a huge room taking up one end, with a polished cherry wood table big enough to seat two last suppers and an equally imposing wide screen TV. He found a full dining room with a many tiered chandelier and doilied table with high backed ornate chairs. There were spare bedrooms galore, each decorated impeccably, the library where he'd now begun reading 1984 by Orwell, and a state of the art stereo system, with stacks of CDs, mostly classical music and opera. Mr. Devoncroix was apparently not one to get down and get funky.

He thought of asking for a phone, then for a place to check his e-mail, but didn't. It's almost as if to request these things would be to break the spell of this place, these happenings, and the existence of Him, which was, really, the reason he didn't leave.

He's just eaten dinner and was deep into the world of "Big Brother" when the atmosphere changed. Nothing overt or covert, just a spike in the aura of the room. His hearing picked up the mechanical rise and fall of an elevator door, one of the old ones, and he knew He was back.

RETURN

Milli's eager face greeted him as she entered the residence, unwinding his thick wool scarf from his collar.

"Welcome back, Sir. Would you and Mr. Gault be wanting some tea, or a brandy before your meal?"

"No, thank you Milli, not now." He handed his scarf to the girl and walked over to check the messages. He didn't receive very many here, but there were some, mostly from society pillars requesting his presence at this or that gala. Besides, the act gave him time to gather himself before searching for the young wolf, and why he felt he needed this time was beyond him right now.

Garret's amused gaze felt solid on his back but he would not give him the satisfaction of looking up. His friend sighed theatrically then called, in a false, light tone "And where would our young guest be, Milli?" As if they could all not follow the scent directly to the boy.

"In the library, Sir!" the gesture was lost on the poor girl. "He's been awake since yesterday and eating and sleeping like mad. Ever such a nice wolf, too..."

"I'm sure." Garret interrupted, and Nicholas did raise his head to meet Garret's dark amused gaze.

"I suppose we should introduce ourselves properly, then." Tossing the messages on the table he walked towards the library, hearing Garret's footsteps follow.

Pushing open the ornate wooden doors he stepped in and scanned the room, immediately finding the boy, who had just put down the book in his hand. He'd marked the place with one of the many heavy personalized markers placed on the tables in crystal bowls.

He was neither as short nor as young as he first looked in a prone position, and those arresting eyes were still the color of green apples, framed by long reddish blond lashes. As in wolf form, his gaze did not lower when Nicholas approached but held, calm and unblinking. Next to him, he could sense Garret chafe at such impertinence but he was sure this was not a gesture of arrogance. If anything he didn't think he had ever encountered a young wolf with such an air of grace and self-possession. More powerful men than this child had quailed before his level gaze. He sported those abysmal clothes again, though freshly washed and ironed, but he wore them as if they were the most fashionable ensemble, hands still by his side and not a twitch of nervousness.

He walked over and closed the distance between them to nothing, and still not so much as a shuffle. Reaching out he ran both hands through the wild red brush of hair then cupped the boy's jaw, looking deeply in apple green eyes. Calloused hands grasped his wrists and as their stares played with each other he found himself unable to look away. Had he ever seen a wolf with such eyes? How were they possible?

A discrete sound from Garret drew him out of his reverie and he smiled before releasing the fine jaw in his hands.

"I wasn't sure you'd stay."

"You asked me to." Voice devoid of any discernible accent but accompanied by a slow, somewhat shy curve of lips.

"I did." He allowed before inclining his head in greeting.

"Nicholas Devoncroix. This is Garret Gault. My oldest friend and advisor."

"Oz." The young wolf extended his hand to Nicholas and he was surprised into accepting the human gesture of greeting only because he had responded to it countless times in business scenarios. Calloused fingers closed around his in a firm clasp before the young wolf offered his hand to Garret. For a moment Nicholas wasn't sure Garret would accept but, with a magnanimous cast to his features, the older man capitulated.

Oz, Nicholas thought. He'd never heard such a name, no more than one syllable of air on the tongue.

"Is that an abbreviation for a longer name, perhaps?" Garret inquired and the boy gave a slight nod.

"Yeah, it is." Nothing else was forthcoming. When Nicholas realized no more information would be forthcoming he casually picked up the reins of conversation.

"Will you join us for a meal? I know I'm famished."

"Sure." Oz gave another slight nod and Nicholas was struck by the immense economy of movement to the boy. Most wolves his age were veritable nebulas of energy, all crass motion and broad sweeping actions.

"Yes, and perhaps you could regale us with the reason you came to be in the predicament Nicholas found you in."

Garret doesn't like him, Nicholas thought, and Oz seemed to catch the mild brittleness in the comment because one brow lifted slightly, and the boy gave Garret a measured look before another sparse, small lift of shoulders.

"Poor judgment. Worse luck." Oz replied with a one sided quirk of his mouth. "I could ask you the same question."

Nicholas stifled a laugh and he thought Garret's eyes would pop out of their sockets and swing by their stalks. He ventured no one had spoken to Garret with that absence of awe in quite a while.

"He was following me. I enjoy late night walks in the City. They soothe my mind."

"Mine, too." Oz moved to take a seat in the breakfast nook where he'd been taking his meals, but Nicholas's hand on his arm stopped him.

"We eat in the dining room."

"Oh. Cool." Anyone else would have been mortified at the faux pas, but the boy obviously didn't even consider the slip as such.

Once they settled and Milli had filled their plates with rack of lamb Nicholas said: "I suppose you have questions. Feel free to ask them."

Lashes lowered on the boy's eternally placid eyes before he looked up and gave another of those enigmatic shrugs.

"I could, but it's not necessary. I think I know all I need to know."

"Is that so?" Garret mused. "And what, pray tell, would that be? Thrall us with your opinions."

The comment hung in the air as Oz proceeded to remove the tender lamb from the bone with skilful ease, surprising Nicholas with faultless table manners, then replied. "Do you impart the disdain on everyone, or just strangers who crash on your best friend's bed?"

The forkful of food on it's way to Garret's mouth stopped midair and he gaped at the boy for a moment before dropping his utensil on his plate with a clatter. The noise didn't even make the boy flinch.

"You'll have to excuse him." Nicholas interceded, watching with something like intrigue as the two male's gazes locked in the classic sign of confrontation. "He is also the head of my security division and tends towards the overprotective."

"Don't speak for me, Nicholas." His friend's voice was like ice.

Oz pushed his plate away in a slow, deliberate move and drew himself up meeting each pair of eyes in turn, first cerulean blue then darkest black. "Look. I'm grateful for your help, and for the recovery time. Staying here has been pretty fascinating. Surreal, but fascinating. But I don't want to cause trouble, and I think I should leave now."

"Nonsense." Nicholas reached over and pushed the plate of food back to its proper place. "You will do no such thing. Garret is merely being cautious. We've had trouble with physical attacks this year that resulted in some deaths."

"I can see why you considered me a threat." He didn't know how the young man could say so little and impart sarcasm so veiled the listener couldn't be sure it was there, but Garret was having none of it.

"And why wouldn't we consider you a threat? You just coincidentally happened to be in trouble at the precise place Nicholas could get to you, you are elusive in the extreme and you belong to no pack that I can see, making it impossible to check your background. Do you think I'd take a chance with our pack leader's life? Do you really think I can take your presence here as mere chance?"

"Garret that's quite enough..."

"You lost me around 'pack leader'." Oz said after swallowing a bite of food, then turned to Nicholas. "That would be you?"

"Do you mean to tell me you haven't even HEARD of Nicholas Devoncroix? Surely you jest."

"No." the boy's lips did that slight curve at the corners that passed for smile. "Not down with the jesting."

Both men stared at him as if he spoke Sanskrit. "I don't know what I'm doing here."

"My sentiments exactly."

"Dude." Oz glanced at Garret. "Disdain."

"What did you call me?"

"Dude." Oz repeated. "Term often used to placate irritability and signal surprise. It's not an insult."

"Human colloquialisms." Garret said with a bland air. "Quaint."

"Garret, this isn't necessary. I won't have a guest in my home treated uncouthly."

"I wasn't being uncouth. We can't be too careful after...." Garret faltered and Oz could almost sense the tension spike up like the lines on an EKG machine. The man's haughty dark eyes became strained and he dropped them to the table bowing his head. Nicholas reached out and buried a large hand beneath the thick black waves and curls swirling around broad shoulders. The move made Oz's heart skip.

"I know your worry. I simply don't believe this young wolf is a danger." Hand still in the depths of Garret's hair Nicholas glanced at Oz. "Am I correct?"

"Yeah, you are." But they fell into each other's stare, suspended, and Garret stood suddenly. Nicholas's hand slipped from the warm recesses of neck.

"I'd like to retire now. It's been a long trip." He spoke only to Nicholas. The blond man nodded watching his friend walk through tall dining room door, and then it was just the two of them.

They ate in silence for a bit, next to each other at one end of the expensive antique table that sat sixty, and though the food had lost much of its warmth he didn't call for it to be reheated. He had already become possessive of his time alone with Oz.

The boy spoke first. "You've known him a long time."

"Since we were cubs." Nicholas sighed. "He meant well, truly. Events last year-they've made him obsessive."

"What happened?"

"My parents and three other wolves were killed by an intruder." The admission came easily though he had barely spoken in depth of the incident since it occurred.

Oz reached over and covered his hand, and he noticed the sparse red gold hairs over the knuckles. "I'm sorry."

"As was I. I can still feel them, sometimes." He shook his head slightly, as if to clear the painful memories. "At their death I became pack leader. That is why Garret is so overbearing."

"Garret looks like he's overbearing anyway."

Nicholas smiled at the perceptive observation. "Quite. Come. Would you like to see our private veranda?"

A long, narrow hall led to a private balcony, one he used to jump out of when he Changed. The balcony held two thick plants in heavy ceramic containers, miniature evergreens, and hardy against the icy chill. Their heels clicked on pink Italian marble. A breathtaking view of the skyline and some woods to the left lay spread before them. He let Oz walk into the evening chill then followed, coming up behind the young man.

The riotous tufts of henna barely moved in the brisk night breeze and the young man stood still against the carved railing, not closing his thin jacket against the elements.

Nicholas slipped both arms around the shoulders and lay his head in the midst of the fragrant red strands, inhaling shampoo and clean werewolf. For a second Oz tensed then the boy relaxed back into him and Nicholas tightened the hug, curving into the smaller body, wanting to warm it.

"What will you do now, Oz?"

Tiny shiver, and he ran his hands up and down the denim-clad arms. "Find my van. See if I still have any worldly possessions, then hit the road."

They watched the lights of the city beneath them, a blanket of multicolored jewels in the inky dark. At length Nicholas spoke again. "What did happen that night? Why did you not sense your attackers?"

The shoulders shrugged within the reaches of his embrace. "My mistake. I had a gig running the soundboard for a band and I had to park pretty far from the club. I'd just finished a fast, and I thought I could out run them. I couldn't."

"Fast? You'd not been feeding at all?" Nicholas exclaimed in disbelief before loosening his arms and turning Oz to face him. The green eyes looked black in the shadows.

The whole concept baffled him. Feeding was essential, critical to werewolves. The Change burned an unbelievable amount of energy and the state of Oz's body, the prominent ribs and the weakness, made more sense now.

"Not for awhile."

"For God's sake, why? And for how long?"

"Four days. Nick, it's not a big deal. I learned about it in Tibet. It helps keep me focused."

"You've been to Tibet?" he asked, only because it was the last thing he registered from all the questions and comments Oz's words has brought forth.

"Yeah. Couple of years ago."

"But Oz that's.... completely insane! Not feeding is anathema to what we are; surely you know that! Situations like the one that happened are precisely why you should always...."

"Sssh." Warm hands closed around he stopped speaking at the touch. The same slow, slow smile.

"I know. Bad move. Unwise werewolf. I'll be more careful next time."

"Your turn."

"Pardon?" Nicholas blinked, unwilling to let go of the rough hands that languidly played with his. The reddish blond lashes lifted.

"Who are you? I thought you were a lawyer, but lawyers don't have original Fragonards and a Dalis in their libraries. I remember your name from a Newsweek article a few years back about the company that was now the major stockholder in information systems software."

"Well, there you have it." Nicholas answered lightly, thinking, in passing, that if Garret heard even part of that whole speech his paranoia couldn't be borne.

"OK." Oz said and he searched for resentment or resignation in the word and found neither. The boy was either a spectacular liar or always told the truth. The young man turned back to the view and Nicholas engulfed the smaller, compact body within his, feeling oddly peaceful out here, in the cold, holding this strange wolf who fasted and dyed his hair. They stayed that way for a while, just watching until Nicholas broke the silence.

"I want to help you."

"You already have."

"I have resources. Your vehicle can be located in a fraction of the time it would take the authorities."

"All the better for me to ease on down the road."

Oh. Of course that would make it possible for Oz to leave sooner. He didn't realize until that moment he'd been looking for a way to make the young wolf stay longer. "That wasn't my intention."

"I know." The two words were soft, the barest whisper in the night.

They watched the twinkling lights some more. Neither noticed the figure watching from just inside the French doors. In another few seconds it slipped away, unnoticed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz wakes up, takes a ride, and makes Garret very displeased.

AWAKENING

Smooth silk sheets, smoother body behind him, and Oz drifted out of slumber by degrees, aware of the weight on his chest, holding him. Devon, move over dude...before his eyes opened to slits, and he saw the glory of the mural above him.

Still more asleep than awake, Oz's mind refused to completely let go of the thought, but that it occurred was no surprise. It always did. While he'd shared a bed with several people, several men, since he'd left the hallowed streets of Sunnydale, it was still Devon's name that his mind associated with on these mornings, when long limbs tangled with his, taut chest at his back and the scratch of hair at his butt from where he was tucked tightly, wedged almost. He could feel the rise and fall of breath, hear the slow, hypnotic beating of a heart matching his own, and it was Devon that was imprinted in his brain, would always be branded there in these moments right before consciousness. His golden skinned, pretty best friend, he of the loyal e-mails, whose presence would forever be the first one his mind grabbed hold of, even if he had spent the night in the bed of a multi millionaire that looked like a Calvin Klein model. Even if said millionaire touched him like a lover but didn't commit move one upon his person.

Devon would probably laugh his ass off if he knew.

Because, really, Oz wasn't a touch-y kind of guy. He'd only ever been openly affectionate with two people in his life. One of them wasn't even Willow, which should have told him something right there. They had been on the same page with that, though, his ex-girlfriend not being the suck-face- in- public- type. She wouldn't even say, "fuck." But Devon had always been about the contact, for as long as they'd known each other, which began way back in church day camp, of all places. They shared a red crayon to color Jesus' robe in vacation bible school, and their bond had been sealed. Devon always hugged him, leaned into him, invading his space like he allowed no one else to do. One day he invaded right into a kiss while they lay on the floor of his van sharing a joint, and they'd been on-again off-again lovers ever since. Devon knew about his little secret, and had shrugged it off with customary aplomb. "No big Ozzy. We just won't book those three days." He had loved him for that.

And the other person-well, the other person was another matter entirely.

He'd been in some pretty strange places since driving away from, he suspected, the only woman he would ever love. He'd prayed with monks and experienced visions in a Navaho sweat hut. He'd lived on a commune with forty other people almost as blasé about nudity as Nicholas was. He never thought he'd wake up in a New York Penthouse with a man who transcended all his walls as effortlessly as blowing out candles. Sighing, Oz shifted his hips even deeper in to the curve of lap, half expecting to feel a twitch of the velvet smooth cock he could feel nestled between his thighs, but no, nothing, even if his own was showing some definite interest. Before he knew it, he'd drifted off to sleep again beneath Nicholas's arm. When he woke up again he was alone and could hear the shower going.

By the time the shower stopped Oz had sat up in bed after pulling on his boxers. He needed to shower too, and almost left the room to find another one; no shortage of free bathrooms here, but didn't. He didn't want Nicholas to think he'd gotten weird over the sleeping -naked- together thing. And he hadn't, even though part of him felt weird about not feeling weirder.

The door opened in a waft of humid steam and Nicholas walked out wearing a champagne colored towel and nothing else.

Oz felt his throat go dry, knew all the x-rated thoughts ambling through his head probably showed on his face, and hoped his customary expressionless features hid enough of them to matter.

Hair hung to Nicholas' shoulders in strands darkened to honey blond, chest, the one he'd felt against his back this morning, bare, smooth and hairless. So much smooth skin stretched over ropy muscle, full six-pack of abs outlined and droplets of water dotting his shoulder, making Oz want to taste them with his tongue. He really did look like that statue of David he remembered from a class trip to the museum.

"Good morning. I trust you slept well?"

"Yeah. Trust away. I passed out on you last night."

"Yes." Nicholas smiled faintly, giving Oz more cottonmouth as he removed the towel from around his waist and proceeded to brush the moisture off his shoulders, then gave his hair a brisk scrub. "I believe we both did. The last discussion I remember was whether computer graphics was a valid art form."

"I remember winning that one."

"Hardly." Nicholas replied, but the smile grew, and Oz made himself get off the bed so he wouldn't spend all morning ogling the beautiful, naked werewolf. "Showering."

"Dressing." Nicholas called over his shoulder, and he stopped at the bathroom doorway, looking over in time to catch a glimpse of perfect ass before the pair of Hugo Boss briefs were pulled on.

"Um." He began and Nicholas faced him.

"Yes?"

"How did I get naked?"

"I undressed you."

"Oh. Good to know." He turned away but Nicholas walked over to him and did one of his sweeping touches, long fingered hand running through his hair, behind his neck, under to cup his jaw. His scalp tingled beneath the contact. A nudge brought Oz's eyes up to meet amused cerulean blue.

"Shy? I thought you unflappable."

"I sometimes flap."

"Do you?" Nicholas ran the pad of his thumb across his chin and studied his face before moving away to get dressed leaving Oz to step into the bathroom.

Oz had been in smaller houses than this bathroom, and it never failed to amaze him. The first time he stepped in here to shower he spent fifteen minutes just walking around, feet sinking in the deep plush carpet, watching himself in the mirror that ran the length of the wall.

Two separate sinks resided on the counter set at each end, the kind that worked on a sensor when your hands moved under the faucet. In between stretched an acre of sand colored marble with a tissue box, gold filigree, a professional hair dryer in it's own cut out slot, and a vented brush. The commode hid behind a glass brick wall and the shower was in a corner, a many nuzzled open cubicle that took him an absurdly long time to figure out. The absence of a shower curtain made him kind of nervous and threw him back to high school where no one tried to look at anyone while showering after gym class. However, the piece de resistance was the deep Jacuzzi you had to step down into; one could practically swim laps in that thing. He'd already tried it, luxuriating in the hot jets of water that seemed to hit his body everywhere. He'd nearly fallen asleep lounging and his hand had floated over between his legs almost absently, the sensual gurgle of water pressure arousing him so gradually he hadn't noticed. One touch and he came, shuddering in the waves and foam.

He'd been thinking of Him when he let go.

Unwilling to step out of the bathroom drenched in pheromones he opted for a cool shower this time and was tying the laces on his boots, hair sticking up in damp peaks when Nicholas walked in.

"Ah, good. You're nearly dressed. Millicent has breakfast ready, and as we speak Garret is locating your van."

Oz stood and watched Nicholas watch him, cerulean eyes touching on his clothes with a rueful smile. "And then there is the matter of your attire."

"I never thought it mattered too much."

"It doesn't, I suppose." The taller man murmured, flipping over the lapel on his denim jacket and grabbing his eyes with that way he had of looking into you. Wolf x-ray vision. Superman had nothing on this. "I just thought you could use some fresh clothes."

"I have stuff in my van."

"I'm sure." Nicholas fingered the fraying collar of his Dingoes t-shirt. "I've cleared my schedule today, so there isn't a hurry, but I'm sure you're anxious to locate your things."

"No ruthless takeovers today?" Nicholas laughed, his hand slipping around Oz's shoulder as they walked to the dining room. His hands seemed to always be touching, carding his hair, cupping his face. Instead of unnerving him, like almost anyone but Devon would have, the contact soothed. He wasn't sure why.

"I've had my takover for the moment. One of the advantages of being president of the company is the ability to clear your schedule on a moment's notice. Very useful power, that."

The dome covered silver dishes already sat on the table and Nicholas removed the covers with ease, turning the condensation away so the steam never touched his sleeves. He wore thin gray cashmere looking turtleneck and more black pants, and his hair was caught back in a low ponytail, which set off the planes of his face and those killer eyes. In comparison Oz did feel kind of grunged out.

"Is something the matter?"

"No." Oz dropped his stare to the mountain of food Nicholas had placed in front of him, manipulating the serving tongs with grace. "I'm just having a Julia Roberts moment."

"The actor? Lovely girl. Delightful sense of humor."

Before Oz could answer Garret walked in and took the seat across from him, talking only to Nick. The man wore a long sleeved polo, also in black, but his hair was loose like last night, reaching half way down his back. For a moment Oz just looked at the two of them, light and dark, slim and muscled, and wondered if they'd ever been lovers. The path that thought took him down so distracted him that he zoned back in just in time to hear what Garret said.

"His van was towed. The lot is about a half hour from here, and there's a charge."

"Take care of it."

"No." Oz said. Both men turned to him and he placed his fork down, weighing what to say. Nick looked honestly puzzled, but Garret had a knowing slant to his eyes he didn't care for.

"You're not doing that." He protested.

"Of course I am."

"Nick..."

"Nick?" Garret's winged brows rose halfway to his hairline but Nicholas ignored him.

"It's nothing, Oz."

"Not to me."

Their gaze held across the table in silence and Garret gave a silent eye roll. Neither of them addressed it.

"Let me know what the verdict is. The bill is $250.00. I have the address." With that he rose and left.

For a minute they looked at each other, and so much of their communication seemed to be made up of this silent, deep contemplation. For not the first time Oz thought he might fall in the mesmerizing cerulean blue and drown.

"You make too much of this."

"I'm not comfortable with this."

"For heaven's sake why not?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." The sensuous lips lifted in a smile he'd come to recognize: part amusement, part exasperation, mostly intrigue, which was of the good. He liked intriguing this elegant man quite a lot. He had from the first. Nicholas sat back and draped a cashmere-clad arm over the back of the chair.

"Continue."

"See, it's kind of a game." Oz began, after spooning up more forkfuls of egg and bacon. "Neither one of us understands the other, not really. We haven't exactly opened up because we're both afraid of something. But we want to. Open up, that is."

"I'm not afraid of you." Nicholas said, and it was one of the first times any words from the older wolf hadn't rung true. It was also one of the first times the electric blue eyes had dropped their gaze. Oz nodded, as if thinking. Spooned up some more food. "Do I frighten you?"

"More than I can say." Something shifted in the incisive blue eyes. Oz felt it. The air between them became heavy and thick and the urge to touch the other man was so strong his fingers actually twitched.

"So." Nicholas lowered his lashes once more. "This game. What are the rules?"

"It's not that formal. I ask you a question. You answer. You do the same. The first one to take the fifth wins."

"Ah. A gambler." Pushing his empty plate aside, Nicholas placed his elbows on the damask tablecloth and surveyed him. "So if I win you must accept my help."

"And if I win I don't."

"Begin."

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because it pleases me to do so." Nicholas replied without the slightest pause. "And because I can. I have the means and the inclination, and I like you."

"Fair enough." Oz nodded, also pushing away the empty plate and smiling at Millicent as she bustled in giving him a conspiratorial wink.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty three." Oz answered, cocked his head at the flicker of surprise on Nicholas' face. "You were thinking younger?"

"I was thinking older. You have old eyes."

"Thanks." If he were the blushing sort, now would be the time. The words themselves came out innocuous enough, but the steady, frank admiration was unnerving.

"Same question."

"Thirty-eight." Oz felt his mouth fall open and didn't reel it in quick enough. The man next to him just laughed. "Surely this is no surprise. When my parents were killed they were over one hundred and fifty years old. You know our kind live well over a hundred years. You did know that."

He could just shake his head numbly at the last phrase. So long. Would he really live that long? The implications threatened to overwhelm him and he had to physically pull himself back to where Nicholas had taken his hand and squeezed firmly, the warmth there seeping into his suddenly cold fingers.

"Oz, what's the matter? I didn't mean to startle you..."

"Your turn."

Nicholas looked at him for a moment then nodded, as if acquiescing to something against his better judgment. "Very well. Why are you living like this? Have you no family, no roots? What of your parents?"

"You're going to have to pick one. Game rules." A flash of annoyance sparked on the fine planes of his face and Oz had to control the urge to grin. His host was obviously not used to being bested.

"The last."

"My parents live in Sunnydale, California. They're fine. We talk sometimes."

"So you are estranged."

"My turn."

"So it is."

"Were you and Garret lovers?"

The utter vexation on the man's face counter pointed a loud crash from the kitchen and Millicent's beet red face as it peeked out of the door.

"My apologies, Sir. Me hands were wet, and the silver platter..."

"It's fine Milli."

"Sir." She bowed before cutting a glance Oz's way and disappearing behind the door.

For long moments after Milli's departure Nicholas stared at him before he finally spoke. "You are the most bewildering creature."

"That's not an answer." Oz looked down at where the long, pianist's fingers still closed around his smaller ones.

"Yes. 'Lovers' is a rather weighty term for what we were, but the answer is yes, when we were both very young. We grew up together. I've always known him. He is my very best friend and I trust him with my life."

That explained a lot. He wondered if Nick really was blind to the Olympic sized torch his "close advisor" brandished practically like the stature of liberty, or if he just chose to ignore it.

"What is your name? Really?"

"You know my name."

"Any aversion will be considered a refusal to answer and you will forfeit. Game rules." Nicholas smiled back, triumphant, and the pure wattage of that smile made his eyes hurt. He's having fun, Oz realized, which also made him realize, from the sheer delight on Nick's face, how long it must have been since fun had been had by his esteemed host.

"Daniel Osbourne."

"Ah." Nicholas said softly. "I could call you Daniel."

"If I can call you Nicky."

"Point."

"Thanks."

"Why were your parents killed?"

A shroud seemed to fall over the mischief in those eyes he'd seen just a second ago, and he almost retracted the question. Almost.

"Because of arrogance and ignorance." He thinks it's his fault, Oz thought. "Mine and others."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't...."

"Don't be ridiculous. There's no reason." His gaze wandered down to where their hands rested on the table, and he began to circle Oz's knuckles with the tip of one finger, like someone would twirl a lock of hair. "My mother and father were dreamers and visionaries. They had a hope for the werewolf nation others did not agree with and they were murdered for it. I have avenged them. It did not make me feel better." The calm desolation in those words seemed to settle in the younger man's chest and he laced his fingers through the hand caressing his, and held tightly. The next words were spoken gently they were almost whispered.

"What are you running from? Or whom?"

Oz glanced up, collided with an inexorable gaze. The group of words effortlessly peeled back so many layers of feeling and memory he could barely take all of it in, let alone choose one answer. Because that's what he had been doing, of course. Running. He'd called it a pilgrimage, a quest for a cure, but he had found that years ago. Now he only changed when he chose, though he hadn't been back to Sunnydale, to Willow, and Willow's new life, so he had no way of knowing if the cure would hold up. No, he'd kept going because he'd wanted to. The reasons weren't ones he thought of even in his own head.

"Oz?" Nicholas' voice was low, inquisitive and Oz blinked once before nodding.

"Uncle."

"Pardon?"

"A saying. For when you give up."

"Oh." Nicholas said. "I win."

"Yeah."

After another moment of sitting with hands twined Nicholas squeezed then moved to stand. "The car should be ready. Shall we go?"

Oz nodded, and followed the taller wolf to the elevator. When the door closed the taller man reached out and drew him into an embrace, resting his chin on his head among his hair. He seemed to like that. Oz stole both arms around the wool coat and they stood that way until the doors opened to find Garret leaning against the town car. The look on his face when he saw them couldn't have been any balder, though he covered it in a second. To a casual observer it might never have been, but Oz saw it. He knew Nicholas must have.

**************************

The three of them stepped into the crowded portable trailer that served as the Speedy's EZ Tow office. The girl at the desk looked up from filing her nails and her mouth fell open. Oz didn't exactly blame her. He figured they made a pretty strange trio.

The two taller werewolves flanked him on either side, both wearing long wool overcoats and black gloves, and both with their hair caught back in a low ponytail that left the planes of their faces bare. There might have been three inches between the top of their heads and the ceiling and at least a foot separated their height from his. He stood there in his denim jacket, Dingoes t-shirt and loose cargo pants, and even the inch and a half on the Doc's didn't add much.

"Yeah?" she asked, in Jersey so thick you could cut it, and Oz spoke up before Nicholas had a chance.

"My van was towed a few days ago. I'm here to pick it up."

Still eyeing them with suspicion she fished a yellow card out of a drawer and offered it to him with a pen, beginning a speech that must have been given a thousand times before. "Fill out the information and hand it to the driver. There's a fifty-dollar charge if you need the jumper cables and we take cash or credit, but no checks. Any questions?"

"No. Thanks." He began to write and Nicholas stepped up to the desk, removing his wallet from an inside pocket.

"And I need picture I.D." The girl added, taking the gold card from Nicholas' hand.

Oz paused and looked up. "My wallet was stolen."

"If you don't got your license we accept another form of picture ID and anything havin' your mailing address."

"I'm on the road right now."

"I don't make the rules, baby, I just follow 'em." She gave him a shrug, her attention already drifting back to Regis and his pretty blond host.

"Oz." Nicholas held out his hand. "Give me the card. I'm sure we can settle this to this young woman's satisfaction."

"Look, I can get I.D. It'll just take me awhile...."

Nicholas stopped his words by placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently, catching his worried gaze. "Don't worry. It will be fine." He gave up the card and Nicholas turned to the girl who had craned her neck to watch the interaction. Nicholas held out the card but when she took it, her hand didn't move away.

"This is not the hardest problem, is it my dear?" His voice had gone low, lower than usual and Oz waited for a sarcastic smirk of derision, because the receptionist practically had NO BULLSHIT stamped on her forehead. That didn't happen.

"I can personally assure you it is the boy's vehicle. He looks very trustworthy, does he not?"

"Yeah." She said faintly, black-rimmed eyes staring widely up at the werewolf, then Oz felt it: a faint pull at his abdomen, and lower, and a scent in the air of pure adrenaline and sex. His breath began to come in slight pants.

"We'd be most grateful if you could aid us in this matter. You can do that, yes?"

"I've gotta...stamp the card." Her tongue came out and dabbed at the corner of her mouth, eyes still staring with white all around the brown, and Oz wanted to step in for a minute, and break the spell. Not enough, though.

"Of course." Nicholas let go the card, but not his hold on her as she fumbled for a stamp pad and pressed the red seal down half on the desk Nicholas held out the card without turning around. "Garret, will you take Oz outside to retrieve the van? I'll finish up here."

"Fine."

Oz didn't move, still watching, the atmosphere in the air so pungent he felt if he tried to walk he would have to push through like some invisible field. Garret slipped a firm hand around his arm to guide him outside. He also took the card from Oz's sweating hands and gave it to the ungainly lot attendant.

The cold air began to clear his head, and he rubbed his face with both palms, the sensation akin to stepping out of the van into fresh air after he and Devon had been sharing a joint. Garret stood next to him, wrinkling his nose. The tow lot was only a block down from a large abandoned lot people had been using as a garbage dump.

"What did he do to her?"

Garret gave him a brief, curious glance before looking away dismissively. "Get your car back for you."

"You know what I mean." Something in Oz's voice must have sounded serious because the tall man looked back down at him in that look of frank puzzlement that they all seemed to give him at one point or another. "Is it some kind of hypnosis?"

"Hypnosis?" Garret laughed, and there was nothing in the sound but genuine surprise. "Good heavens, no! You know we have an undercurrent effect on all humans; a sort of visceral pull. Nicholas simply harnessed that a bit and directed it. Don't pretend you haven't done it yourself."

"I can't do that."

Garret looked at him for a minute. "What do you mean? Of course you can; we all can."

"No."

"Have you attempted it?"

"I'm saying I don't have that ability." He clarified, thinking the wolf misunderstood him. Garret shook his head.

"And I'm telling you that you most certainly do. At the very least you've had it done to you, if you've spent time with any other wolves."

"I don't..." Then a flash of memory, so sharp it caused him to throw his head back. The deep, coiled feeling in the pit of his stomach, of being pulled and drawn to Veruca. He'd felt it in The Bronze, across a sea of people, and before that, when all they'd done was pass each other on the sidewalk, or sit across from each other at a table. It invaded his thoughts and senses and beckoned him to her like a magnet.

"I see you have." Garret was staring at him with an almost total absence of hostility, which hadn't happened at all since they'd met. "You really have no idea what it is you are, do you?"

The distinctive sound of the van's exhaust system saved him from addressing that comment. A smile tugged at his lips at the sight of the familiar zebra stripes and left headlight held on by wire. Garret's dark eyes widened as they ran over the van's exterior in disbelief.

"That is the most preposterous vehicle I've ever seen."

Oz nodded. "Thanks."

"Here she is." The driver puffed his way around to their side. It had taken him a few minutes to work his way out from behind the wheel. Oz kept it set to match his height. "Looks like the caps were lifted, but no one broke in. You got lucky."

"Thanks, man." Oz took the receipt and shoved it in his pocket.

"She a '69?"

"'70."

"My brother had one a these. Got so much nooky in the back a that thing, you wouldn't believe."

"I'd believe." Oz assured him with a smile and a prudent drop of his eyes. The man cackled laughter and slapped his hand in camaraderie.

"I betcha do, too! Hey, you need to replace the caps, give me a call. I got a friend specializes in VW's."

"You got it." The man gave him a wink and took off, wiping his face on a handkerchief.

As he moved to open the back, Oz saw Garret giving him the puzzled stare again. He was going to patent that and charge them every time they used it. For some reason it didn't bother him as much on Nicholas.

"What?"

"You touch them quite naturally. Humans."

"You don't."

He hadn't meant to sound judgmental, particularly since he didn't usually sound like much of anything, but he still felt kind of thrown about the whole conversation before; like he'd flunked Werewolf 101.

Garret's bow lips pursed in that way that looked like he'd been sucking lemons.

"I didn't grow up with them. It's a perfectly natural reaction."

Oz didn't answer and threw open the back doors and the scent of a hundred Sunnydale afternoons suffused him so completely his chest twisted. For just a second all he wanted to do was go home. Faint strawberry incense, Devon's favorite, stronger acrid sweet odor of pot, and just a hint of the plastic encased air freshener that never had a chance amidst all the stronger perfumes. His large plastic cassette holder still sat next to his guitar case, his clean clothes still fell out of a plastic bag in one corner and the Mexican blankets and pillow that he used to sleep still crouched in another. Old Dingoes posters were taped to the walls, and he moved some things around, not so much checking as reacquainting himself with his home. He could have gone on without the van because, first and foremost, he was a survivor. But now that he didn't have to brace himself for the loss, he felt damn happy to have it back. Just having it made him feel grounded and centered.

A hand touched his lower back and he stiffened, moving casually away. Nicholas didn't seem to notice as the blond haired man took in the van's contents with a wry smile.

"Very...interesting automobile. Your handiwork?"

"Nah. Came that way."

"I see my efforts to retrieve this fine vehicle were well spent."

Oz fingered the thinning shag carpet, and a long fingered hand came up to his jaw, insinuated itself between his collar and his neck in the space that made him want to close his eyes and cleave to the touch like a big cat. He looked up into those blue eyes so brilliant no human could own that color, knowing even as he did they would be his undoing.

"Thanks for this."

"You'll simply have to pick a different wager next time. Will you follow us back?"

The question hung in the air gaining weight and profundity, and he knew, somehow, that if he wanted to turn away, now would be the time. The perfect opening to thank his gracious host for the down time and the food and shelter and cut ties before they got any deeper. Because standing in the open doors of his van the pull to nuzzle the palm on his neck stole over him, the urge to swim in the cerulean ocean of those eyes called to him, and it wasn't whatever whammy Nicholas had laid on the receptionist. It had begun before he'd even been conscious.

"Oz?" His name was a whispered breath, uncertainty flickering over the beautiful features. They would have been pretty save for the age in those eyes.

Nicholas' other hand ran through his hair. He could feel the strands separate between the tapering fingers before the palm came around, cupped his chin, and a thumb ran gently over his lower lip, brushing. Something clenched, immediate and powerful, at a point below his waist and Oz gripped Nicholas' wrists tightly, meaning to pull them away, and found he was just unable to.

"Yeah."

"Good." The relief in the one word was almost hidden, but not quite, and Nicholas gave him a smile that didn't dispel the worry on his brows. The taller man moved away, taking the magic hands with him, and Oz swore, all he wanted to do was dive back into that touch.

"I'm right behind you."

Giving a nod, Nicholas moved towards the car and Oz shut the doors.

 

NICHOLAS

He knew the touch had been calculated, and he had done it anyhow. The scruff of a wolf's neck was very sensitive, part of the reason it was his favorite part. One of his earliest memories was of his mother's strong jaws carefully closing around his neck while he'd been a cub, moving him out of harm's way, guiding him, reprimanding him whenever he got in trouble. He found himself deeply taken with Oz's neck, the frailty of it below the shorn hair, so unusual for wolves, because to keep it so short would entail weekly visits to the salon. The pale expanse of bone and muscle led to the compact, shoulders and the valley of his spine. He'd had daydreams of running a finger down that valley to the smooth buttocks, molding the bones of the boy's hips with his hands.

His friend's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"Something isn't right with him, Nicholas."

"Yes, he does have questionable taste in automobiles, doesn't he?"

"Don't be obtuse." Garret almost snapped, reaching in the space between the seats for a bottled Evian. "He had no idea what you were doing in the office; he'd never seen it before, or hadn't realized he had. You and I recognized that ability as cubs."

Nicholas sighed. "Garret this is getting tiresome."

"I am not enjoying myself, either, contrary to what you might think. If you intend to go much farther with this I must do a back ground check on him."

"He is just a stray." Nicholas glanced out of the window at the passing city scenery. "I don't think he's been around many of his own kind. Perhaps his family passed as human. At any rate, do you truly think he's a danger to me?"

"I don't know. Even his family should have seen to certain basic knowledge, shouldn't they?"

"He doesn't seem to have any contact with them."

"I'm doing a check." It was the closest to a command Garret would ever get. " I have his picture from the garage security tape. I can begin with that..."

"His name is Daniel Osbourne. His parents are in Sunnydale, California." Nicholas interrupted with a sigh.

They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

"Why him?" The question was asked almost inaudibly, and bordered on the improper. Nicholas would have reminded anyone else of his status as pack leader and his right to do as he pleased with whomever he pleased, but Garret had never been just anyone.

"I'm not sure." Nicholas answered softly, and would have extrapolated if he'd known how.

They spoke no more the rest of the way.

Upon arriving Oz parked the van in the garage and selected some clothes from it's recesses. The vehicle was truly one of the most outlandish things he'd ever seen and Nicholas enjoyed the looks of bafflement on the staff as they regarded the van and the short wolf who hefted a garbage bag over his shoulder as they headed for the elevator. Garret excused himself as soon as they arrived, no doubt to go begin his research on the boy.

Yet in the elevator he sensed the change in Oz, not in small part because the young wolf stood across from him in the small space, eyes on the floor. Nicholas could feel the invisible wall between them that hadn't been there before and had to severely control the urge to breech it with his touch. The problem obviously couldn't be obliterated in such a facile manner this time.

He lasted until they got to the penthouse and turned down Milli's offer of afternoon tea before approaching the boy as he removed a few articles of clothing from the plastic garbage bag, folding them onto a neat pile on the bed. More t-shirts and jeans. Standing close behind him he leaned over and said into a shell of ear: "I think luggage is also in order."

"I don't need luggage." Oz moved away, but Nicholas stopped him, gripping his shoulders. The boy stayed, but his eyes cast downward.

"Please look at me."

The reddish blond lashes lifted, pensive shamrock green, and for the first time Nicholas began to suspect he might be utterly and completely lost.

"What happened at the office, with the girl. It's upset you."

Oz stayed silent for a few seconds then spoke. "She didn't have a choice."

"It's not as sinister as all that, surely?" Nicholas said softly. "It was harmless, I promise you. She's fine."

"I wouldn't like that done to me. It kind of freaked me out."

"Yes, Garret mentioned you'd been perturbed. It wouldn't be done to you, Oz, not in that manner, because you are werewolf."

The crisp green eyes lowered once more, shoulders relaxed a little in his hold. "I think it was."

"Oh? Without your consent?"

"Yeah."

"When it is done within weres, it is usually consensual, during sexual overtures or mating. Did you have a mate?" Even as he asked, he knew the answer. The boy couldn't have. If he'd been mated, he'd be with her still. If she'd died, Oz would be gone as well.

"No. Not...not her." The tone was reluctant with discomfort and Nicholas began a subtle kneading through the denim of the jacket. The lashes on those serious eyes slipped closed, and the body in his hands became more pliant.

"That's not fair."

"What isn't?" Nicholas murmured.

"I can't think when you do that." Low mumble and Nicholas smiled, but didn't stop.

"Can't you?"

Oz didn't reply, but leaned into the touch.

"If I consent to desist I demand a more enjoyable direction to our day. I have flagrantly and without conscience shirked my ever so important work duties. It's not something I often do."

"No kidding?" Oz opened his eyes and curved his lips into his slow smile.

"And here I had you pegged as a slacker."

"A...what? It sounds vaguely insulting."

"Vaguely." They traveled in each other's eyes a while, questions asked and answered, assurances given, until Nicholas felt welcome enough to draw him into a brief hug.

A knock on the door sounded and they both turned to see Milli poke her head in the room. "Excuse me Sir." She saw Oz and smiled brightly. "Hello Oz! Didn't see you there, lad. Sir," she addressed Nicholas. "Trudeau hasn't lunched yet and was wondering if he had a moment before you'd be needing the car again today?"

"That's fine, Milli, thank you." Nicholas released Oz, who had prudently dropped his arms and stepped back a bit. "On second thought, tell Trudeau he may lunch at his leisure. I'll be driving us wherever we need to go."

"You will, Sir?" Milli's voice sounded doubtful and he turned calm eyes to her. "Of course, Mr. Devoncroix, as you wish. Will you be telling Mr. Gault?"

"No, I thought we'd let him become good and frantic for a while to test his mettle."

"Very good, Mr.Devoncroix." She bobbed her head and disappeared with a cheerful smile.

They looked at each other after the door closed and both broke into light laughter. "That girl has always had the most uncanny sense of timing. I believe it's getting more acute."

"I like Milli."

"She's fond of you as well." In actuality, Nicholas had rarely met a better judge of character than the young servant girl. It was as if she had inner radar against duplicity. Her immediate affection for Oz was one of the reasons Nicholas was certain the young wolf meant him no harm whatsoever. Unfortunately, this wasn't something he could easily tell Garret, who had a very precise idea of class and status.

"Come my friend. Our day awaits us."

"So. What would you like to do?" Nicholas asked as they drove down the street in the Jaguar he kept for personal use. He watched Oz run his hands over the leather interior as the boy had been doing for the last ten minutes.

"Nice car."

"Thank you." Nicholas smiled. "Would you like to drive it?"

"No." Oz glanced at him. "Thanks." Small, rough calloused hands outlined the detail on the dashboard. "Maybe later."

They drove in silence for a bit then Oz leaned back and gave a shrug. "It's your town."

"One of them." He agreed. "So it is my decision, then?"

"It's your day off. Knock yourself out."

With a nod, he headed towards 34th street.

It was one of the rare times Nicholas began without some sort of plan. While his detractors would say different, he actually believed greatly in the value of a well thought out agenda. Today would be the exception.

The helipad sat on top of the forty story building and Oz shielded his eyes against the wind as they stepped out onto the roof. Nicholas walked up behind him and noted how woefully inadequate the thin jacket was against the elements. He'd originally planned to make a shopping excursion the first order of the day, after the van retrieval, but thought better of it. Oz would probably spend more time protesting the purchases than selecting them, and that would rob the entire exercise of any enjoyment.

"Are you ready?" He shouted over the clap of the propeller blades and Oz nodded, the shamrock eyes alight with anticipation. Ducking under the blades they headed for the waiting helicopter and he made sure Oz was securely inside before opening the driver's door lifting himself in.

To the quizzical raised eyebrows he said. "I'm licensed to fly."

"Cool." But he noted with amusement the clenched fists as he began the necessary flight procedure, and laughed out loud.

"You trust me so little?"

"I trust you."

"Good." They lifted off in a smooth arc and soon the fists relaxed and Oz hovered at the edge of his seat as Nicholas pointed out The Empire State Building, Ellis Island, and the Harlem Bridge. Visible in the distance, and more ominous than any tourist attraction, however, was the enormous crater left after the September 11th attacks.

"I don't want to go over that, if it's OK." Oz said quietly.

"The air space above the sight is still restricted." Nicholas turned them towards the Hudson River, and soon Oz was enjoying the view once more. He didn't blame the boy. He hadn't flown very much since the attacks for that very reason.

After an hour he turned them back towards the landing pad and set them down gently, clasping hands with Oz as they ran beneath the blades, passing the next tour of people.

"Good flight Mr. Devoncroix?" A young worker inquired as Nicholas signed them out.

"Wonderful, Charles. Thank you."

"Anytime. Hope you and your friend have a good day."

Nicholas looked down after handing the clipboard back and Oz gave him a smile so wide it made him think he hadn't really seen one out of the boy yet.

"That was really cool."

"We've only just begun, my friend."

Nicholas ended up taking Oz to several tourist destinations, simply because the boy had never been to any of them.

They toured the observation deck at the Empire State Building and rode the Staten Island Ferry. He talked Oz into taking a carriage ride in Central Park, though the young wolf seemed to prefer petting and talking to the horses more than the ride itself. After the Harlem Museum they sat in Battery Park and ate hamburgers from a street vendor, with Oz laughing as Nicholas questioned the nutritional value of their meal. Afterwards he refrained from telling his passenger where they were headed despite Oz's curious questions. The suspense was less than he'd hoped, though, due to the boy's amazing impulse control. Only the drumming fingers on his knees showed the excitement.

The look on Oz's face when they entered Mandola's Guitar Shop was well worth it, though. Tucked far off the beaten path the guitar shop nonetheless commandeered three floors of a glass fronted building and housed some of the most famous acoustic and electric guitars in history. All manner of guitars were also sold, as well as mandolins and ukeleles, and they had a practice room to try out insturments and an extensive selection of sheet music. Nicholas had discovered it when searching for his brother's birthday present one year; Etienne had been going through a rock and roll phase.

"Nick. This is...incredible." Oz stared around himself at the array of instruments surrounding them. Every available space seemed to be occupied by guitars and guitar paraphenelia. Guitars hung from the walls and lay in display cases next to black and white autographed pictures of their famous former owners. "How did you know?"

"I saw the case in your van."

"I think I'm moving in."

Nicholas laughed, delighting in Oz's amazement and obvious love and reverence for his chosen instrument. "I'm not sure they accept tenants, but I do have some connections."

"Thanks. I'll let you know." Oz gave him a patented slow curve of lips and began to walk among the aisles, touching this instrument and that, flipping through sheet music. Nicholas watched him as he moved, noting again the placid grace with which the boy held himself. It made him want to simultaneously disturb it and cloak himself in its depths.

Oz spent the better part of two hours in Mandola's, trying out the practice room and viewing the guitar museum on the upper floor. His knowledge of different brands was impressive. However, Nicholas noted how Oz returned to a certain bass guitar time and again, soothing it's finish and plucking lightly at the strings. "Classic Fender VI Bass, six string, circa 1962" read the placard propped next to instrument displayed on a mahogany stand. A long, elegant neck made of blond wood lead to the classic Fender shape, the color brilliant sunburst edged in black. It reminded Nicholas of Oz's hair.

"Handsome workmanship." He noted the fifth time the boy circled back to it like a smitten suitor.

"Yeah."

"You play the bass, I take it? I only saw one guitar case in your van."

"I play. I traded my bass to get the van serviced and garaged in Mexico."

"Ah. It must have been difficult."

"Not so much." Oz left the guitar's alluring surface and stuck both hands in his pockets. "I didn't play a lot on the road. Did cut back on the freelance gigs I could take, though."

"You must play for me."

"Anytime." Oz nodded.

As they exited Mandola's he noted with some surprise the setting of the sun. The day seemed to have sped by, and the chill in the air showed it. Oz dug his hands imperceptibly deeper in his pockets. Most people wouldn't have noticed the move, so casual it was, but Nicholas had begun to recognize the nuances. Slipping an arm around the smaller boy's shoulders he sought to shield the short body with his against the wind. Despite the chill he could feel the warmth in the flesh beneath the thin jacket.

"Dinner? That fine cuisine we had in the park was quite a while ago."

"Can't we eat the house? I'm kind of not dressed for a four star restaurant."

"That sounds fine. I believe I've tired you out enough for one day."

"Hey." Oz caught his hand as they walked and he paused. His hand was still held in the boy's smaller one, and the green eyes held his. "I had a really amazing time today."

"As did I."

'I don't want you to leave' He had to consciously keep the words from forming as he studied the enigmatic face turned up to his. He'd been pondering a way to put forth the idea to Oz all day. A manner in which the boy wouldn't feel kept or obligated, and he hadn't had much success.

"Come on." Oz tugged him towards the car, and he followed, mind still searching and seeking a solution to keep the person at his side there indefinitely.

As the Jaguar rolled smoothly into the private garage Nicholas caught sight of Garret's pinched white face in the headlights.

"I think he wants to talk to you." Oz deadpanned and Nicholas gave him a resigned smirk.

"You would be correct."

"Have you gone mad?" Garret fairly spat the minute they exited the car. He saw Oz back off and start to head towards the elevator, but some contrary imp made him reach out and hook the boy's hand, keeping him close.

"Yes?" he said in the face of Garret's blazing dark eyes. He didn't fault Oz for retreating in the least; it was simply defensive instinct. Garret angry cut a formidable figure.

"You cannot go gallivanting all over New York without so much as a bye your leave to the security team! I almost sent them out to track you down!"

"I left you a note saying we'd be sightseeing."

"There was no agenda."

"We had none."

"Nicholas....!"

"Would you like to take this discussion inside? I'd prefer it, not that we haven't been highly amusing to all our employees." Nicholas offered a casual smile to the group of men in dark clothes that had been taking pains pretending they didn't notice the arguing wolves.

Garret's handsome face flushed and he turned on his heel towards the open elevator door. The tension hung oppressively in the air after the elevator door shut and he thought Oz stood minutely closer to him, the wary green eyes never leaving Garret's barely contained anger. He could feel the coiled apprehension in the young wolf's muscles as they leaned slightly into his and he began a subtle rubbing of the space just below Oz's shoulder blades, the slide of his fingers on the fabric drowned out in the hum of the cables. Unfortunately it didn't work this time, probably because they were not alone.

" 'Ello everyone! Good outing Mr. Devoncroix? Lovely day for it!" Milli's bouncing voice greeted them as they walked off the elevator, but Garret rushed past her in broad, controlled strides and didn't answer.

"I'd say it went marvelous. You'll have to ask Oz his opinion." Nicholas handed her his coat. "Milli, please get Oz a drink. I'll only be a minute before dinner."

He left Oz looking after him with opaque green eyes and shut the library doors.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz has a bad dream and makes a decision.

OZ

He could hear the muffled voices from the library. No one was yelling, yet, but if looks could kill he'd be a dead man right now. He thought Garret's coal black eyes would incinerate him on the way up in the elevator and he'd be a Kansas song by the time they reached the penthouse.

Milli's broad face scrunched in perplexity as she brought Oz a tall glass of soda choked with ice. "Goodness! What on earth traveled up his knickers and set up camp?"

"I think that would be me." Oz sipped at the cool fizzy drink.

"Piffle!" Milli scoffed as headed towards the kitchen with Oz in tow. "I haven't seen Mr. Devoncroix in so fine a mood since before the Mister and Missus died, and right worried about him we were. Blamed himself for it, thought he'd fade right away from grief. Your visit's done a world of good for 'im! Man of his importance needs his rest, and he's always worked himself practically to death, poor dear."

"What is his importance, exactly? I mean, I know he has the company but..."

"Why he's our leader, dearie!" Milli answered with wide blue eyes, as if that explained everything. Oz nodded once, slowly.

"Thought I got that."

"He's the head of all the packs in the world, the organized ones at least! When his mum and dad married, rest their souls, the two oldest and richest wolf families were joined in matrimony, and he fought his way to the head of the pack to be Alpha. Won over all his older littermates, goes the tale! And he the youngest cub!" Milli's plain features glowed with the excitement of an obviously favorite story. "I heard he not only brought down the biggest game, but stole each one of his litter mate's trophies as well! Brothers couldn't hold onto 'em! Mr. Devoncroix was but a cub of four then, me dad said. There's the sign of blue blood, I say." Milli nodded resolutely.

"Blue blood." Oz repeated, digesting the information as the cubes melted in his glass. But then he'd known that, right? He'd known something was different because Nicholas and Garret were like no wolves he'd ever known. They weren't like the odd wolfs he'd run across in his travels, scratching to survive and keep the secret intact, or even like the handful of wolf 'families' he'd run across, like Veruca's band that traveled in a pack and kept moving to dissuade linkage to any mysterious deaths by evisceration. Milli made it sound as if Nicholas was the werewolf version of Henry the VIII. "Like royalty?"

"Of course, luv! Whatever did you think?"

"Kind of thought he had a trust fund and great taste in cars."

Milli dissolved in laughter, throwing an arm around his shoulder so exuberantly his Coke sloshed. "Oh he's a far sight more than that, my boy! And he's a lovely wolf to work for besides, take my word for it." Her kind features sobered suddenly. "Worked for his oldest brother Gerard for a spell as a young wolf I did. There's a one cracked in the center good and proper."

Nicholas chose that moment to walk out of the library, followed by Garret, who looked like he'd been mollified for the time being.

"Is everyone ready for dinner? I'm ravenous."

"Coming right up Mr. Devoncroix!" The girl nodded and bustled off to the kitchen after a quick curtsey. Oz couldn't get used to her doing that in front of him, and didn't think he ever would.

Nicholas lay a hand on the small of his back and he let himself be guided to the enormous dining room once more.

He didn't know what Nicholas told Garret but the man was almost civil at the dinner table. Oz wasn't fooled, though. Beneath the liquid dark eyes he still kept a suspicious look on Oz, as if he didn't trust him very far at all, which made them even.

Nicholas turned to talk to both of them with ease, engaging Oz in conversations about parts of their day, and talking with Garret about some business deal in France. Oz had to hand it to Nick for trying to get them both to discuss something simultaneously, but all those tries cratered like a lead balloon.

He concentrated on eating his steak and lobster without grabbing the shellfish in both hands. He'd never had lobster and the delicate, tender taste danced on his tongue, buttery and mouthwatering. He was actually starting to miss vegetables, though. His mom had been a big balanced diet person, and even after he'd been bitten, it stuck with him.

".....xenophobia in Paris right now is very similar to the one in our own culture. Theirs is just to so with foreigners and ours has to do with humans." Garret finished and Oz's ears perked up at the conversation.

"True." Nicholas agreed with a reluctant nod. "And I accept that. I do not, however, accept that I must do business with such individuals. That I CAN control."

"You are being impractical and you know it. If we did no business with prejudiced people we would do no business at all."

"Why do weres hate humans?" Oz asked into the brief pause and both men exchanged glances.

"Not all weres hate humans, Oz." Nicholas said.

"I know. I don't. But from listening to you talk it sounds like a lot of others do. "

"Humans have been our enemy in some form or fashion for a long time." Garret said levelly.

"I don't think that's true." Oz said, just as level, and Garret gave him that superior look he reserved for making people feel idiotic.

"They are innately our enemy on several levels: they can expose us, bring unwanted exposure, and no amount of prestige or wealth would save us. They have hunted our brother wolves nearly to extinction in certain states of this country. They care little for the world's resources and systematically destroy habitats and ecosystems and each other..."

"And weres never do *that*." Oz interrupted mildly.

Garret's ink black eyes flickered. "I didn't intimate that. But I do believe our packs take care of our own before we destroy them."

"There are extremists factions to every culture, Garret. You know that." Nicholas said. "We learned that lesson bitterly well, did we not?"

Oz watched the interplay between the two wolves, noted the almost invisible nod Garret gave before leaning over the table to make a point. He's angry that Nick's on my side, he thought, and wished he could just cut through the complicated dance once and for all. Because he didn't think there were sides, and the conversation wasn't just about whether humans or werewolves were the most flawed.

"Of course we did. But the catalyst for the events that came to pass was Alexander's view on how the pack should treat humans. It is to were culture what religion is to humankind; each major conflict can be traced to that point."

"In a broad sense, yes." Nicholas agreed reaching for his red wine. Oz watched the long, graceful fingers curve around the crystal stem of the goblet, lifting with infinite elegance. "One could also argue that each major conflict had ignorance, intolerance and greed at its core, also attributes wolves are not immune to."

"Granted." Garret nodded. "But I maintain that of the two species we are more humane, despite not being human."

"On our better days." Nicholas smiled wistfully.

Oz pushed his plate away, suddenly not interested in finishing off his portion. An apprehensive weight had begun in the pit of his stomach, one he instinctively wanted to shy away from; bring on the ten-foot pole. He caught Nicholas watching him in concern, the small worry line furrowing between the smooth brows, and he smiled. Willow'd had the same line, in the same place. Sometimes it seemed his life was one long string of ironies.

"All good, Sir?" Milli asked with a beam as she swept in to lift away platters and cutlery.

"Yes, Milli, excellent. Give Cook our regards."

Garret excused himself after Milli cleared the table and Oz walked towards the bedroom, intending to clear the bed of his clothes while he thought of it. Pushing open the door he walked in, then stopped, staring.

Boxes, bags, and boxes in bags lay stacked in a neat pyramid on the low table in the room's living area. More sat on the bed and on two chairs. He felt Nicholas come up behind him and lay a warm palm on the base of his neck. "Surprise." He looked over his shoulder and the older wolf smiled and threw a shrug back at him. "They're for you." Oz shook his head but Nicholas had already pulled him in the room.

"You can't do this."

"I believe I already have."

"When-I mean, we didn't..."

"I had my personal shopper pick them up. She has impeccable taste." Nicholas overrode Oz's look of doubt. "You don't really think I have time to do my own shopping? I wish I did. Renee has been in charge of what I wear for years. She's seen you on the security cameras in the garage and I knew she'd get your style correct."

"Right." Oz looked back at the mountain of purchases. "Because urban destitute's so easy to get wrong."

Nicholas laughed then stopped when Oz didn't join him. Stepping closer he ran a thumb over Oz's forehead and Oz felt his head bend forward even as the litany began in his head: he knows what this does to me, he has to, it's not fair.

"It's not fair." The last part actually verbalized as he watched the perfect lips curve into a faint smile.

"What isn't?"

"You can't just touch me and make everything OK."

The cerulean blue eyes held his for a moment, then longer and again that feeling; sand shifting beneath his feet. "Pity. I was counting on that." the words were soft, the long fingers tracing all around his face leaving tingling trails behind. Desire began to color the air, invisible and heady, but Nicholas moved away with one last brush of thumbs over his lips.

"I have no defense, really." Nicholas walked over and began opening packages, leaving Oz in a puddle on the floor. "I know you needed clothes and I wanted to get them for you. Hence, I did."

"I don't know what to say."

"Yes?" Nicholas suggested over his shoulder, then held up a dark cable knit sweater with rolled sleeves and collar. When Oz still didn't respond Nicholas sighed and placed the sweater down, walking over to him again. Placing both hands at his neck he did one of the deep looks in Oz's eyes that seemed to reach right through him. "It would mean very much to me if you accepted this."

"I'm just not a Barbie. You know?"

The instant cloud of dismay that came over the beautiful features made him feel like an asshole. Ungrateful much, he thought wryly. "Oz, no. Of course not. I would never....in no way would I...." I made one of the most powerful werewolves in the world stutter, Oz thought. Yay me. Only he didn't feel very yay.

Nick suddenly drew himself up, a glint of resolve in the blue eyes. "Very well. These are not a gift, then. You will pay me back. I will hire you."

"To do what?" Oz did laugh then, unable to help himself. Nicholas smiled back and seemed encouraged at the response.

"You are a resourceful, intelligent young wolf. Surely we can find something you can do."

"I don't know...." Oz hedged, still not sure he could allow this at all. Nicholas smiled and drew him in, pressing his lips among the riot of his hair.

"It's settled then. Let's see if Renee has lived up to my word."

Whoever Renee was she had an eerily close grasp of what Oz would wear. There were soft cotton sweaters, all in earth tones, an assortment of jeans, chinos, and cargo pants, all loose enough to be comfortable but not enough to fall off his hips. A mountain of shirts in several styles and patterns, including casual knits from J. Crew and button downs with motifs eclectic enough not to be hokey. Sweatpants in his size, socks, plain white Hanes briefs, a new pair of Docs similar in style to the ones he wore, and a quarter length suit style leather jacket in weathered black. It was this he picked up from the box and held, inhaling the scent of the leather and the soft, supple feel of it. It's what he would have bought if he had money to blow, and slightly better taste.

"Ah, good. I told her a warm seasonal coat was a priority." Nicholas nodded in satisfaction and Oz looked around at the piles of clothes. There was no way he could keep all of this.

"You can set aside what you don't want." Nicholas continued and Oz looked over to see him pull the gray cashmere sweater out of his pants and draw it over his chest. "Renee won't be offended; not even her judgment is without fault."

"Uh...what are you doing?" Oz asked, watching the tapering pale fingers snapped open the clasp on the dark pants and pulled down the zipper.

"Disrobing." Nicholas said as if that made perfect sense.

"Don't take this wrong but-why?"

"I'm seducing you." Oz blinked as the Hugo Boss briefs he saw pulled on this morning were slipped slowly off long, smooth limbs. He felt his heart speed up as his eyes helplessly traveled over the taut stretch of creamy thighs, pink uncircumcised cock nestled in a dark blond thatch and those Michelangelo abs up to perfect nipples....and an amused face with bright laughing eyes.

"Shit." Oz let out a breath and Nicholas burst into deep, throaty laughter, wonderful in its exuberance. He'd never heard Nick laugh this way, loose and free, and he shook his head, looking away with a lopsided grin.

"I'm sorry. I am, but you the way you looked!" Nick held stomach and Oz began to chuckle at the sight of the mostly naked, laughing werewolf.

"You know, you should take off your socks if you're going for the whole suave effect." Oz pointed out. Nicholas bent over, face hidden by the long blond strands then looked up with such indignation Oz lost it. Their mirth lasted quite a while until they shushed each other and he ended up seated next to the taller, nude man, arms around the slim waist while Nick hugged him about the shoulders, hands linked.

"I didn't mean to shock you, truly. For some reason I just thought you'd know why I undressed."

"Why did you?" Oz looked into the still crinkled cerulean blue eyes.

"To run." Nicholas said simply. Oz felt a warm flush of anticipation at the two words. He hadn't Changed since he'd recovered after the beating, and he saw the same eagerness in Nicholas' face.

"Come." Nick let him go and stood, and Oz stepped out of his clothes in record time, sensing the crackling of electricity and blood in the air by the time he stood from taking off his shoes.

A huge silver blond wolf stood panting in the middle of the room, ice blue eyes fixed on him. The animal easily clocked in at almost five feet in length, it's coat lustrous and thick and Oz gave himself up to metamorphosis with more ease than he'd ever felt. He had never had this. Not even in the open desert, or the mountains of Tibet. Always there would be the worry of discovery, the need for forethought as to where to Change back, how to return to whatever place he was staying without alarming anyone. Now his body sensed the newfound facility and reveled in it.

The angle of the room became lower, the smells sharper and his hair lengthened into the reddish blond coat of his wolf form. He lie panting for a minute; it always took him a bit to get acclimated to how much his senses exploded every time. He smelt each person on the floor: Garret's earthen scent, the talc and rosewater Milli wore, others he didn't recognize, hints upon the breeze of his awareness, but mostly he sensed Nicholas.

He already knew the older wolf's precise essence like his own: musk, blood and spices, like cloves or coriander. Underlying salt of the sadness Nicholas never really seemed to shake, awareness of the presence that was he.

Next to the magnificent creature Oz felt dwarfed but the huge wolf gave a small yip and licked at his muzzle and Oz returned it, accepting the friendly push. Nicholas' wolf form had piercing ice blue eyes ringed in flawless black, striking against the white blond of his face. For a second the large wolf met Oz's eyes, then headed out the door to the veranda. He followed behind.

The night air bit into him like wine, and Oz lifted his nose in the air, swimming in the amazing kaleidoscope of smells: car exhaust, sprouting leaves and wet earth from the woods below, flashes of humans.

The huge wolf with him put his front paws on the veranda giving an encouraging bark to do the same. Oz complied, pads of his feet resting just on the marble while Nicholas lay half over it. Nicholas looked over the edge and back at Oz and Oz realized he meant for them to jump. The veranda dropped twenty-five feet onto a lower roof, then a mere ten to the ground.

An uneasy whine escaped his throat because he'd never jumped that far, anywhere, and the roof below seemed very far away. His companion gave him an affectionate nip, then nuzzled the scruff of his neck in reassurance, and Oz gave in, trusting the older wolf. Despite his trepidation he knew Nick would never put him in danger; he knew it on a level deeper than mere feeling. They crouched and tensed, ready to jump, the Italian marble cold on the pads of his feet. With a last glance they shot into the air and over the stone railing and Oz was flying.

He meant to be scared, and part of him was, but he found himself too enmeshed in the sensation to acknowledge it much. Too soon the roof sped up at them and they landed on the loose gravel, Oz rolling a bit with the impact in contrast to Nick's light set down. He lies there breathing hard, taking inventory of all his extremities and finding them intact. The large wolf approached him with soft sounds of concern, sniffing for injury, but Oz hopped up and barked in joy, head bursting with excitement. Nick returned the sound, large pink tongue hanging out, laughing at him. The next drop was child's play, and then, they ran.

The woods near the penthouse were city woods. Enough foliage and trees to give the idea of a forest without the vastness. They ran beneath the fingernail moon, rolling in wet grass and twigs and chasing squirrels up trees to have them scold and pace nervously on an upper branch, chattering in the dark. They drank from a small puddle and played chase, nipping at each other's tails, and rested, getting a second wind near a small clearing.

When they got to their feet and began to trot once more, Nicholas stilled so suddenly Oz bumped into his shoulder. The next second he smelt it: rancid and pervasive, the odor of a marking. The huge wolf that was Nicholas turned and started back to the Penthouse at a steady run, Oz close at his heels, both of them watching for the owners of that threatening scents. It wouldn't be just one; it would be a pack, probably dogs gone feral and wild, and Oz wholeheartedly agreed with booking while the booking was good.

They almost made it. The overwhelming scent of urine and droppings had faded almost completely, when the presence of another assaulted him and Oz whined, deep in his throat, edging closer to Nicholas, who had paused, powerful muscles tensed.

A gravelly growl reached them and Nick whirled with unreal speed, fangs bared, ice blue eyes murderous.

A large Rottweiler, scarred and filthy, emerged from a low bush. Oz felt around the air for more, but found none, to his relief. The flat black eyes fixed on Nick, ignoring Oz completely and the silver blond wolf placed himself between the advancing dog and himself, hair at attention all down between the shoulder blades to the lustrous tail. Nick was bigger, but the Rottweiler didn't seem to care and Oz crouched, ready to pounce, the low growl from the dog reaching his spine and making him thrum with tension. Nicholas had been doing his own warning sound, steady and lethal and the large dog bared yellowed teeth, not impressed one bit.

The next moment they flew at each other and Oz was thrown to the ground as the two large animals tangled in a blur of fur and guttural snarling. The tussle lasted a few minutes, with the dog retreating grudgingly, not willing to concede but needing some recovery time. Nicholas panted, still poised for battle. They circled each other slowly, Oz careful to stay near Nick, when the Rottweiler went for the blond wolf's neck. Oz saw the intent as if in slow motion and reacted, throwing himself at the large animal only to receive an efficient snap at his forepaw that felled him, but it had distracted the dog enough. Nick launched himself with a thunderous snarl, and Oz rolled away from the light and dark blurs. A high cry pierced the air and the Rottweiler retreated, trailing blood from a badly torn ear as Nicholas crouched, crimson fangs bared, ice blue eyes molten.

The next minute the hulking form ran over to him, licking and nosing with an inquisitive air, a faint whimper of worry at the surface scratch on Oz's foreleg. Oz licked at the wound, put weight on his paw and found it cooperative. Giving Nicholas a few licks of comfort to show he was cool, he'd live, they trotted more slowly towards the building, where he followed Nicholas around the service entrance through the strips of heavy plastic and into the freight elevator. Nick stood up and pressed the top button with his nose and in no time they walked through the kitchen into the penthouse.

Once in the room they Changed back within seconds, and Nicholas approached where he sat on the carpet, head resting against the bed with his eyes closed. Someone, probably Milli, had put away all the new clothes. His eyes lifted open when he sensed Nick drop next to him and gently take his arm to examine the long scratch that stretched from his elbow to his wrist.

"Does it hurt? Are you alright?" The older wolf's voice sounded deeper, richer.

"Mm." Oz grunted, letting his eyes slip shut again, fatigue seeping into his body. Barely realizing the action, he leaned into Nick's chest, breathing deep of the elixir that was fast becoming an addiction: musk and sweat, exotic residue from the Change, and blood from the one he'd fought. Nicholas' arm circled his shoulders, and he felt soft lips at his hairline, then the crook of an arm hooked under his knees and he was being lifted like a child.

"I'm OK." He mumbled, tried it again, going for enunciation this time. "I'm OK, Nick."

"Good. I'm drawing a bath and then we are going to sleep. I think the run might have been a bit much."

"No." Oz lifted his head as he was set down on the soft toilet cover, opened his eyes to see Nick adjusting the Jacuzzi's settings. "I've never run like that, relaxed like that. It was unreal."

Nicholas knelt next to him and gave him an incredibly sweet, pleased smile and his gut began that clenching that signified major trouble. "I'm so glad."

"I can do this myself, really." He said, getting to his feet and swallowing a face-splitting yawn.

"If you're certain."

"I'm good."

"Alright." With a last rub behind an ear, Nick left.

By the time Oz emerged Nicholas was already in bed beneath the satin sheets, hair a mixture of honey and champagne blond depending on how dry it was. He must have showered in another room. The nude wolf sat, back against the headboard, and read some kind of report in a slim red folder, but Oz saw him rub his eyes.

Slipping between the sheets he felt his body grab at sleep and struggled to stay awake a few minutes more.

"Tomorrow..." he said from the pillow and Nicholas set aside the folder to prop himself on an elbow, the fingers of his other hand traveling through Oz's still wet hair.

"Yes, what about it?"

"I don't know what happens." The fatigue was making him more up front than usual. The older wolf smiled faintly down at him, the blue shiny with tiredness.

"Don't worry. We'll talk about it in the morning. Sleep now." Fingertips, damp from his own hair, came over Oz's burning lids and he succumbed, drifting into slumber with his hand on Nicholas' thigh. He knew the light went out, and felt himself be turned, tucked in a curve of lap, and held, and a feeling of protection and peace stole over him from beneath the warm embrace. Before he lost all awareness he thought he felt warm kisses along his shoulder and in his hair, and a whispered phrase. It sounded like "Sleep well."

NICHOLAS

Something had awakened him. Nicholas stirred, slumber unwilling to release it's hold, and he reached up a hand to his face, a fragment of thought: I AM getting older; I could do this day on my head ten years ago. Then the subconscious sense of wrongness gained form.

He no longer held Oz in his arms. Nicholas lay on his back, arms stretched wide on the custom made King sized bed, and the warmth of the small body usually pressed flush against his was gone. But that hadn't been what awoke him.

The spark in the air had pulled him out of sleep, like a low but persistent sound. He'd been dreaming of running beneath the full moon, somewhere lush and green, perhaps Lyons in the summer, the fragrance of a hundred Changes permeating the night air. Now he knew it was not in his head; there was a spark, faint but unmistakable, and wrong, somehow. Too much acidic fear in the Change making the fragrance sour.

"Oz." He muttered, feeling around the bed for the compact body he'd gone to sleep holding, cheek resting amidst damp hennaed strands, cool, smooth hips against his stomach. His questing fingers found nothing and he sat up, looking around, worried now, blinking away fuzziness from his eyes. Then a sound, so tiny human ears wouldn't have heard. But he wasn't human and the minute whimper reached his ears igniting bells of alarm.

"Oz?" Crawling across the expanse of bed, over silk sheets gone cold, he headed towards the sound, and finally found the boy, huddled in a ball at the edge of the mattress, about to fall off. Oz had pushed off both sheet and comforter and shivered in the dark, hugging himself, the skin clammy to the touch. Nicholas crawled over, concern obliterating the last vestiges of sleep.

The boy trembled and whimpered piteously, hands clenching and releasing convulsively, and Nicholas lay a gentle hand the icy shoulder. "Wake up, Oz. It's just a dream. Ssh...."

"No..." the word tore out in a pleading voice that cut his heart. Where was the boy inside his head? What had happened to cause such torment? He listened to more frightened mumbling to someone named William or Willy, asking to stay away, begging someone to stop.

"Oz." Nicholas shook harder, aware of the deepening odor of Change in the air; he could feel it on the boy's skin, just below the surface, wanting release. With some difficulty he managed to turn Oz towards him, rolling the freezing body over on a hunched back, limbs stiff with fear. "Sssh, it's alright...."

"Don't!" Jerking movement suddenly and a glancing blow struck his nose hard enough to make his eyes water. He shook hard and Oz's head flopped back like a rag doll, eyes still tightly shut.

"Now, Oz." Another hard shake. He could actually feel the gooseflesh sprout hair follicles beneath his fingers, when Oz began to shake alarmingly. For a terrifying moment Nicholas thought the boy was having a seizure, so intense was the trembling, but there was no sickness in the air, just abject terror the likes of which he hadn't smelt since that night in the alley. "Wake up, please." He whispered against an ear, his cheek stained with Oz's feverish sweat. He heard a gasping sob, and the air went abruptly flat. The skin beneath his hands smoothed instantly beneath a film of perspiration and only the lingering scent of Change in the dark and the quivering boy in his arms showed how close to transforming Oz had been.

"Sshh. Just a dream, you're safe." He whispered, attempting to release the frozen rictus the small body held on itself. Oz still tried to make himself as small as possible, his posture fetal and protective.

"Let go. I'm here. You're safe." He kept murmuring a mantra of appeasements until the muscles relaxed the slightest bit and Oz's lashes blinked; he felt them move, like butterfly wings against his cheek.

"Nick?" Weak whisper on his neck and he drew back, staring at the young wolf in his arms. The long lashed eyes blinked open slowly, peering at him in the dark.

"Yes. You had a bad dream." He said gently and Oz nodded then fell to trembling so intensely Nicholas immediately drew him in, prying the stiff arms away from the panting chest and forcing them around his back. Oz grasped at him like a life preserver, quick little breaths against his clavicle where the boy had buried his face.

"I'm okay. I'm sorry. I'm okay..." Nicholas realized the breaths had words and he shushed the quivering youth, bringing a leg over the cold hips and engulfing him as much as he could. "I'm okay, okay...."

"Yes, ssshh...." Nicholas soothed, holding tight the small, shaking body.

He heard the door to his bedroom open and made out Garret's nude form, dark hair cascading around his shoulders in a sleep mussed tangle.

"Nicholas? I heard a shout."

"I know." Nicholas said from his position on the bed, hands massaging the trembling back, leg running over the rash of gooseflesh on the pale skin. "He's had a bad nightmare."

"Do you need anything?" Garret sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, face composed and calm, and Nicholas sat up, shushing the murmur of protest from the boy he held.

"Could you bring some water? Thank you."

Garret nodded and rose, and Nicholas moved Oz on his lap, cradling him as the shivers slowly ceased and the warmth returned to the smooth skin. Rubbing his hands over the lax arms he kept a steady stream of reassuring words in a low, soothing tone, punctuated by a press of his lips along the damp hairline. He wanted to reach out with his senses, his instinct demanded it as it would with any hurt wolf, but he refrained, the words of their conversation about the girl at the tow lot heavy on his brain.

"Nick?" There, the voice sounded stronger, though still unsteady, and Oz brought both hands to his face, rubbing roughly. "I'm sorry...."

"Don't be ridiculous." He whispered.

"I hit you." It wasn't a question and Nick smiled a little.

"Slightly. No harm."

Garret returned with a tall glass of water, flicked on the light, and Oz covered his eyes with a little sound of surprise. The room plunged immediately back to darkness even before Nicholas gave his friend a small shake of his head.

"Forgive me." Garret said quietly. Giving the dark-haired wolf a grateful look of understanding he took the glass, still holding Oz steady on his lap.

"Drink." He whispered gently, bringing the water to the parted lips. The small hands closed around the smooth surface, holding, but Nicholas heard the boy's teeth rattle on the edge and a few drops sprinkled on the bedspread.

"Sorry. Klutz." Oz said, eyes closed but Nicholas just rubbed the now warm back and lifted the liquid once more. The water would settle the nerves and replenish a few electrolytes; the young wolf had been bathed in sweat.

"Nonsense. There's plenty of room, yes? We'll move over." The distressing quivering had almost ceased and he watched with approval as Oz drained the glass empty, then let Nicholas take it. As he handed it back to Garrett he the saw troubled cast to his friends face and a look passed between them. Oz lay his head against his shoulder, as if exhausted, and he should be. The stress of hovering so close to a Change with no fruition would in itself have been excruciating, and a waste of vast amounts of energy.

"I hope you feel better Oz." Garret said quietly, before getting to his feet.

"I'm not sick." The low voice had just a trace of peevishness and it heartened Nicholas immensely. Garrett gave the boy a lifted eyebrow but Nicholas smiled at the familiar smirk. He knew Garrett and knew the affronted air was more for Oz's benefit than anything else.

"I have to pee." Oz whispered against his neck and Nicholas prepared to move over and carry him to the bathroom but the young wolf struggled a little in his embrace. "I can do it."

He didn't think so but obligingly leaned back and let the boy scramble slowly to the edge of the mattress. Watching carefully for any wobble he observed as Oz swung his legs over the side and rose, hand across his middle as if in pain. Nicholas bit back the question that formed and forced himself to let the naked young wolf shuffle to the open door. Oz faltered only once and Garret reached out only to be stopped by a steady upheld hand and unblinking eyes, black in the dark. They watched the youth disappear behind the bathroom door, which shut with a soundless click.

He gave a sigh, surprised to find it's echo from his friend.

"What happened?" Garret whispered and he shook his head, throwing back his chin to stare at the ceiling. The fresco was indistinct in this light.

"Something did him damage." He let the tight anger and steel he'd been hiding color his voice. "I want to know what, or whom."

"As do I." Garret replied cynically and Nicholas looked over to see a frown of frustration across his friend's features. "I am finding it puzzlingly difficult to obtain information about our young friend. There was a Daniel Osbourne born in Sunnydale, but those records are 'temporarily unavailable' due to a computer glitch. He wasn't at the local university long enough to have any history of note, and his high school, usually a wealth of information, had a mysterious fire that destroyed all student records prior to 1998."

"What, they don't have a clue how the fire began?" Nicholas exclaimed in disbelief.

"My friends and I set it." Oz's voice startled them and they turned. Oz walked slowly to the bed, his step surer, but one hand still held gingerly to his side. "We had to kill the mayor. He turned into a snake demon."

A ticking silence followed, broken only by the rustling sounds of Oz climbing beneath the sheets. "Well." Garret finally said with a prudent lowering of his eyes. "On that note I'll take my leave. Good night."

"Thank you." Nicholas called softly and Garret's jet black eyes met his briefly. Nodding, the dark haired wolf left them alone.

Oz pulled the sheet over his shoulder and turned around, giving Nicholas his back. He could tell from the unnatural stillness the boy wasn't asleep and he ached to curve around the shoulder blades and slim waist, but there was a tension, almost tangible, and he wasn't sure how to cross it. Tentatively, he placed a hand on the patch of shoulder peeking over the sheet, and Oz sighed, a feathery sound in the dark. Taking that as a signal Nicholas slowly molded himself against the smaller body, and Oz shifted his hips into the cranny of lap until once again he held the pale boy fast in his embrace, cheek pillowed in the spiky hennaed strands.

"Where did you go, Oz?" He whispered, not expecting a reply. He didn't get one.

A rough calloused hand closed on his wrist and gripped tightly and he pressed his lips to the scalp of this boy that had invaded his life so effortlessly.

I can't let him go. The thought crystallized whole in his consciousness and, as if in response, he held tighter to the compact young wolf in his arms, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of him like brine.

"Addicted to breathing here." Oz whispered and Nicholas loosened his hold a bit, still needing to clutch, press, to know Oz was safe.

Something had been at him. Something strong enough to reduce the self-possessed youth with the most placid eyes he'd ever seen into a destroyed mass of fear. He would find out what, or who, it had been. He hoped for their sake they were already dead, because if not, he would bathe himself in the fountain of their blood.

It was a long time before Oz's breathing evened out and Nicholas relaxed his hold yet more. He went to sleep listening to the cadence of the boy's heart. His hand lay flat on Oz's breast bone, feeling each beat.

He stepped from the bath to find Oz fully dressed, not in any of the new clothes, he noted, and sitting at the foot of the bed. Damp red peaks still shone in the morning light, which were all he could see. Hands clasped loosely, Oz kept his gaze on the floor as Nicholas approached.

He'd warred with himself this morning on whether or not to remain in bed until the youth woke up. He wanted to, but it was not the custom they had fallen into, and something told him Oz would resent a break in routine. He would have been staying in bed to indulge his desires, not the young wolf's, and so he rose as usual.

"How are you?" He asked and the face that lifted at his voice had dark smudges insinuated beneath the apple green eyes.

"Good."

"Good."

He began to dress, one eye on the boy. There was trepidation in the air that hadn't been there before and he distrusted it immediately. Pulling on dark pants and a long sleeved raw silk pullover sweater he opened his mouth to invite Oz to start breakfast without him when the boy spoke.

"I'm gonna motor."

"Excuse me?" Nicholas said, but panic had begun in his chest, fluttering like captive doves.

"I'm gonna go."

He stared for a moment at the resolute, tired, apple green then nodded slowly as he sat next to Oz to put on his socks and boots.

"Where?"

"Philadelphia. I've got a friend there."

Nicholas forced himself to complete his morning ritual and when he'd fitted his feet in his leather boots he turned to the boy at his right, colliding with the watchful verdant orbs. "You don't need to leave."

"I know." Oz looked away but Nicholas caught his cheek with his palm and turned the stare back. What had this child done to him? The prospect of watching Oz drive off in that ridiculous van made him unable to catch his breath. He wanted to pull the warm body against him, keep him there, scuttle away with him and run beneath the full moon. He wanted that so much it ached.

"Don't." He said softly, eyes memorizing the somber, gamin face. The way Oz's reddish brows drew together when pensive, the features that only appeared expressionless when you didn't know what to look for.

"Don't what?" Oz asked, even as Nicholas ran thumbs down both sides of that serious face, over the slightly parted lips, down the curve neck to the hollow of throat, beating a quickened pulse.

The words began on their own. "Don't leave because of last night. If you are embarrassed or apprehensive...."

"You had Garret check me out."

"What?" He glanced back up at the unblinking eyes from where his gaze had followed his caressing fingers. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Security." He answered, honestly perplexed. "Nothing more. Truly...."

"You could have asked me."

"Oz." He said softly, splaying both hands on the fragile neck and lacing his fingers over the rise of vertebra. "I did."

"Some secrets are just mine." Calloused fingers pulled his wrists away and the very skin on his palms mourned the loss. The shamrock green was sad and tender. "You can't have them."

"I don't want them." Nicholas insisted. "I just want...." He stammered. "I need...."

"You don't." Oz shook his head. "I don't fit in your world, Nick. Garret knows that."

"Garret is paranoid and elitist."

"He's right."

"No." Nicholas whispered, shaking his head. A part of him wanted to shout and break things and demand this boy heed his wishes. He was Nicholas Antonov-Devoncroix, pack leader, King of the Werewolves, and all lower wolves bowed before him! He had reduced Heads of State and Chairmen of Boards to pale specters with one well-placed glance, and he could not make one badly dressed child listen to him? He could force him to stay. He could. Yet even as these thoughts shot through his mind, he knew he would do no such thing. He would not bid Garrett to follow the boy, either. Oz's independence and self-possession were what drew him, what made the boy like no other wolf he'd ever known. To pull rank at this point would be the worst sort of betrayal, and cost him Oz's respect and friendship, even if, as had become more and more clear, he had not had a platonic intention towards the youth for quite some time.

Closing his eyes, Nicholas bowed his head. Fingers began carding through his damp hair and he thought he might truly come undone. An enormous weight pushed down on his heart, and he had to talk around it. "When will you leave?"

"Pretty much now."

"At least have breakfast. Milli will be disappointed if you do not."

"Stalling?" A small tease struggled for presence in the one word and Nicholas opened his eyes to see such marked regret on the young face he almost pulled Oz to him, consequences be damned.

"Desperately."

"Breakfast would be cool."

"And take the clothes."

"I don't need them."

"Yes, you do." Nicholas replied rashly. "Not one thing you own is new. At least you won't have to worry about purchasing more for quite a while."

"Maybe."

Nodding as if Oz had agreed Nicholas rose and walked towards the dining room.

He didn't know why he thought breakfast would be better, that getting Oz to stay counted as a sort of triumph. Sitting across from him, watching him pick at his food was like some exquisite torture. Garrett kept glancing back and forth in concern, but would not mention anything. Nicholas knew it was only because he didn't know how.

Milli had no such misgivings.

"That can't be all you're eating lad! Off your food, you are and you look peaked as a ghost! Doesn't he, Mr. Devoncroix, Sir?"

"I'm alright, thanks." Oz smiled at the dubious look the young servant girl threw him.

"I think not! Wanting something special, is it? Cook can whip up anything your 'art desires in no time!"

"Thanks, really."

"Well, all right." Milli gave in grudgingly before fixing a keen eye on the boy. "I'll be watching you at dinner time, I will! You'll clean that plate for sure or I'll know the reason why."

"Actually." Nicholas said, pushing his own plate away. "Oz is leaving us this morning."

Garrett looked up sharply but Milli actually covered her mouth with both hands.

"Whatever for?"

"He has a friend we've been keeping him from in the city of brotherly love."

"But we'd just gotten used to you, luv! It'll be right empty with you gone. No disrespect to you, Mr. Gault." Milli added hastily and Garrett gave her a flat smile.

"None taken."

"Could you please make up a lunch for him, Milli?" Nicholas said and the girl bobbed her head, still looking unhappy.

Oz seemed unable to look up as the servant girl walked by but had no choice later when she handed him a large Tupperware container, then threw her arms around his neck.

"Whoa! Hey." Oz hugged her back around the bulky plastic box and Milli drew back, leaking around the eyes.

"Don't mind me, pet, don't mind. Just a silly Cockney I am, but, oh, youngster, what a joy it was to have you here!"

"I'll miss you, too." Oz whispered in her ear, and Milli dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her apron before walking away after a decidedly half-hearted curtsy.

Garrett had disappeared sometime during Milli's impassioned adieu and they stood there, he and the small werewolf, in the foyer of the apartment. Without a word Nicholas lay his hand at the base of Oz's neck and they headed for the elevator.

The van stood parked in the same place as yesterday and Oz shifted the food while he opened the back doors. Every inch of space had been packed with luggage, save for the leather jacket, which lay on top of an overnight bag. Oz looked at Nicholas, who shrugged, eyes on the purchases in the van.

"Surprise."

"You really don't take no for an answer, do you?"

"I wouldn't say that." Nicholas burrowed his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. He hadn't done this particular gesture of apprehension since he'd been a teen-ager and taken a public speaking course in college. After watching himself on video as part of a class critique, he systematically trained the habit away. "I am letting you go, am I not?"

Oz didn't answer right away, placing the container on the floor of the van and shutting both doors. "So no top secret wolf mafia's going to follow my every move?"

"No." Nicholas said, smoothing the lapels of the ever-present jeans jacket. "None. I am arrogant enough to believe I can find you when I want."

"You think so, huh?" Oz's lips curved into one of his slow, sweet grins and Nicholas fisted his hands in the faded denim, stepping into the energy field of the russet haired boy. Oz tilted his face up, vulnerable column of neck and fringed red blond lashes and Nicholas bent down to brush the parted lips with his own.

The light contact seared into him and his body jumped. Oz lifted up on his toes, straining onto his mouth, and the touch became not tasting but knowing. Slight, small tip of tongue teased his own, warm hands on his waist inside his coat, clutching, and Nicholas broke away, realized he had tears in his eyes making Oz's features blurry. Breath coming in rapid pants, he stared at the intensity in the heavy lidded eyes gone emerald with desire.

"I know so." He whispered into moist sheened lips, breathed Oz in. "I'd find you. Do you believe me?"

"Yeah." Oz lay his head on Nicholas' chest, and he felt the heart clamoring in the boy's chest like his own raced in his. "I believe you."

"Be safe, my friend." Nicholas gathered the compact body into his arms in a rough hug, pressed his lips one last time to the tousled red spikes, then pulled away and walked to the stairwell, head held high, fists clenched, the scent of Oz still coursing through his senses. He didn't look back.

 

OZ

He couldn't walk. He'd been able to; he'd walked just fine from the elevator to the van, holding the huge plastic tub of food Milli packed for him, even. Then the kiss, the completely unexpected fire of emotion in his chest at the touch of Nicholas' lips, softer and stronger than he'd ever imagined, making him want to devour that mouth, making him hard. So now, not acing the walking, here.

Running a hand through his hair he realized his fingers were trembling and his eyes shut against the mind movies playing every ten seconds. After awhile he finally managed to unglue his feet from the asphalt and start moving, glancing around for some of the many muscled guys that always seemed to hover around Nick and Garret. Funny, though, they always did a disappearing act when the time was right.

Settling in the van felt wonderful, and his bearings began to slip into place, even as every nerve ending he owned howled in protest. His body wanted to race back into the long limbed, muscled arms and his mouth wanted more of the rich, spicy taste that was Nicholas Devoncroix. Oz staved them off by checking his dash and mirrors, the mantra that had carried him through so many hard times beginning sub-consciously in his head: keep moving and it will be all right, keep moving and it will be all right. Do the next thing, then the next, and the next, and the surreal three days will fade. It had to.

He drove to the exit of the garage receiving a friendly wave from one of the huge security wolves in black. Raising his hand in return, Oz paused and stepped on the break.

Garret stood to the side watching him with unreadable coal black eyes. Should be hiring the forty-piece band any minute now. The thought surprised him in its bitterness because bitterness wasn't an emotion Oz let himself have very often. It tended to poison all the other good, pure feelings, and fester like an open sore; he learned that the hard way after his last visit to Sunnydale. Definitely anti-bitterness. Yeah, him hitting the road was probably a good idea.

For long moments he held Garret's obsidian gaze, like a game of chicken neither one wanted to lose. The dark haired wolf moved, and for a second Oz thought he might walk over, but the man just nodded slowly, and he looked away, shifting into first to ease into the space left by oncoming traffic. I lose, he thought wryly, and again with the quasi-bitterness. The two words left him unsettled, somehow, and he glanced in the rear view mirror at the imposing building he'd spent three of his strangest days in. He could still feel Nicholas' lips on his, like a brand and with a grim set to his mouth, he continued driving. That, too, would pass.

He had a friend in Philly to look up.


End file.
